Oneironaut

(An explorer of dreamscapes)

The sepia tones
of a treasure map at first.
But then I miss your blue eyes
so I turn the colour on.

Your hair is blonde again
and shined heavy with carats
by the harvest moon
of our first walk in the woods.

You take my hand
to draw faces in the stars
before the clouds put them out.
Like a conjuror

I try to wave them away
but that only makes it rain,
giving the oak a voice
that calls you home.

I wake up to the tangle
of you under my arm.
I open my eyes
to an empty bed.

17th June 2013