By Bud Koenemund
Turning toward me, a whisper escapes your
Lips: "I love you" lingers despite the roar
Of wind whipping through obsidian hair.
Your skin, like velvet, glows in sun-warmed air,
And I see my smile reflected in
The sunglasses obscuring your brown eyes.
I reach to touch the hand of my soul's twin,
Unaware this is but slumber's disguise;
Happiness that cannot survive waking –
A bitter dawn after this dream's sweet peak.
I grasp in vain at dying night, aching
To embrace once more the passion I seek.
I find contentment only lost in sleep,
For when roused, mem'ry haunts
and madness creeps.