While caressing you to sleep last night
I slipped silently into my own dream.
Sometimes I remember dreams, mostly I forget —
either way it doesn’t seem to matter.
Tonight, strands of evidence gathered through my senses
during the day and all of my life were synchronized
with some mysterious thoughts from who knows where
to produce a brief movie of my hand caressing you.
When I woke in the night, that hand was on your chest
making soft little swirling motions just like in the movie,
the dream within a dream which somehow fit perfectly,
one within the other, just as our hearts fit perfectly
within each other, even as we dream.
We couldn’t tell the dreams apart as they swirled
so gently back and forth between our sighs beneath
the sheets, and we were half awake and half asleep
in the pale light of the passing moon, just feeling
that luminous presence without uttering a word.
How many nights have we spent like this?
Was there a before, will there be an after?
Maybe sometime we’ll awake from this dream of forever
and remember everything, each little sigh, every moon
floating majestically over us while we created little movies
in those transient dimensions for which we have no name.
What will be then — a lingering perfume of experience,
neither happy or sad — only that wordless thing
we always share as we drift off to sleep.
Just as it’s been since the moment we met,
it will always be more than enough.