Dreaming

I dreamed of you,
and in my dreams
                                                   there are
hours of talking,
streets for walking
                                                    and
time for thinking,
good wine for drinking,
                                                     there are
moments of fire,
of unyielding desire;
                                                      and in my dreams,
I reached out for love,
and found love
was as the air
slipping through my fingers.
                                                        And I, empty, alone in my
                                                        bed,
                                                        no longer dream.

©2007 Michael Shelby