One Day I'll Be Dreaming

One day, I’ll dream
the Saturday afternoon;
fraisé gel douche,
and wet hair
painting a circle
down the back of old tee-shirts.

I’ll dream
Neptune’s grey-blue blanket,
of falling above the water,
wet sand, and hanging upside
down on the monkey bars
while you made confused posey faces
and didn’t know how
to play the bottle game.

I’ll dream
the dusk-nights spent
scanning down the too small
print in the yellow pages
looking for familiar faces
etched somewhere, and
calling you in the moments
between names.


Bedtime last,
I tried to listen to my
own droning recitation
of what paradise dreamland
was supposed
to look like.

I don’t remember
that dream. 

Instead, I’ll hold
Onto the string of the
Bright red kite
Against periwinkle blue

That

One day,

I’ll be dreaming.