the good dreams are the worst to wake up from

I'd drink your soft lips
as your head tipped back
in the crook of my arm

your neck and body on down
transformed into noodles!
Then, sudden

your intake of breath
and consciousness, back in a
moment, returning
embrace

your strength, and firm purpose
resolve, your eyes opened
again

into mine

- as I wake up.

eyes opened again

and
I can't
break the stare
through your gaze into mine
yours - burned into my eyes -
is only a retinal ghost.
an afterimage

a face projected
on a blank white screen
you burn into my ceiling
over long minutes,

before I can bear to blink.

my eyes don't sting

my eyes are not dry

and I blink. As your face fades to white,

you do not smile.

neither do I