Wake-up sex with a kiss on the neck—I dreamt of a shipwreck.
I left; my lips chapped, a forgone conclusion.
To bruise you, sleeping—such polished things we say on the weekends.
The blue leaves, the sheer immediacy of us.
It bleeds into my dreams, a hatched ideal between monsters,
a beach, a rock—a scene shared from another time.
Love marooned there: in a fall, from a bed—
I’m yours—so weak, in love; I’m yours.
But are you mine?