by Sean Portland

Created on: September 15, 2009

I DREAMT OF YOU AGAIN. (in Free-Verse)

I dreamt of you again.
But I woke before the dream had ended.
As though the closing stanza had been torn, catty-cornered.
I remember that
and fragments of our past. Fractured spectral snapshots in reverse.

The set of smoked-glass Dalmatians,
nose to nose, one without an ear
where I knocked the bedside dresser,
drunk

and the Sgt. Pepper album sleeve,
tossed on our new chestnut-red two-seater,
as you led me up the spiral staircase
and the milk and honey scent, and lipstick scintilla
left on my pillow
the first time I dreamt of you

and the first time I saw your face.

Your face, flashing, flittering in and out of focus,
willing itself aside the black-body tow
of a sorry souls nadir.

I'll dream of you again.
I'll drink and drink and dream until
the mosaic hues are grey as granite.
I'll remind myself -
What is in a beginning, if not the end? -
and then my nights will be the same
as my waking day,
just with a different stranger.

I'll dream of you again.

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