Late

 

You visit

me in

 

dreams:

 

a sepia

landscape,

 

you always

walk away,

 

too busy

with life’s

 

minutiae.

 

I hesitate

to call

 

perhaps your

bread will fail

 

that supple

souffle fall.

 

You’re always

in my head,

 

I’ve tried

to love

 

again, it’s

not the same.

 

You come

to me

 

in dreams,

 

I touch

your face,

 

I’m smiling

in my sleep,

 

I even call

your name,

 

but it’s

 

too late

too dark

 

too far

away

 

for love,

to blossom.

 

 

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