The Dreamer

When the walls around me sleep
and I lie
in sheets I haven’t washed for weeks,
soaked in fairy dust, with tiny
fairy footprint memories
that trace the steps back to the night before.
The stadium lights pour through the drapes,
the heavy ones,
                              remember?
Polyester you wanted to take down.
I pretend its stars, and I almost believe it too
Forget the city
and know only my bed
and my pillow
and a face
Boy, I can’t keep my eyes off of you.



Remember,
we picked tomatoes in my Nona’s patch.
You said,
Corn-silk hair is misleading.
But then the wind came and we slept for hours
down on the earth.
Or did I dream that too.
Did I dream up you?
Make you up, fashion you from bits of straw,
newspaper
and marigold petals
glued together on my twin size bed.
Creaky mattress, soft spoken voice
on my neck.
Boy I can’t keep my hands off of you.



And I hate it when you do to.
Your petals on my forehead
Leaving yellow in the seams,
marking me
like those scratches in the school desk,
I can’t remember if I dreamed.
Boy I can’t keep my nights off of you.




Or off the weight of my quilt,
heavy with your smell.
That I wouldn’t wash for weeks,
even if I had the extra change,
or if the washer wasn’t full
of memories
and dreams.
Boy I can’t keep my mind off of you.