Lysander's Dream

She is beautiful. No - not so -
That word is not enough to describe the
Perfection I perceive in her pensive gaze.
Her dark eyes are galaxies. I watch as those specks of light
Spin, spiral, shine.
Her skin, it is velvet --
Smooth, silky, soft
The same hue as caramel.
Her dark hair becomes a waterfall as it is caught in the breeze,
Streaming, shimmering, shining.

My Hermia, clever as her namesake
And quick as his winged shoes.
However did she become mine? We have been gods-blessed.
I reach out, caress her cheek,
Her small, smiling, shape,
And we sleep.

I dream of my love
Her eyes are my sky, my world
Big, blue, bright
Her long locks are the light
Blinding, billowing, bewitching.
Her skin, it is flawless, it is moonlight
Breathtaking, beaming, blushing.

And this is not Hermia, no,
This is my Helena,
With a face that could launch a thousand ships,
A demeanor that could entrance a thousand men,
A smile that could heal a thousand hearts, or break them if she so chose.
My Helena, sweet perfection,
I reach to brush her tears away.
Why is my love crying? Her eyes, brimming with tears,
Will overflow any moment,
Will pour out enough salt water to fill an ocean and
Launch those thousand ships.
Ah, and yet the light’s reflection in her tears creates a sparkle,
Bioluminescence, a beautiful sight to behold.
My hand brushes her cheek,
And -

I am awake once more, returned to the world
In which only Hermia will ever be the one
To satisfy my heart.
My love, my one, my only.