Janelle

Dreaming

You twisted your fingers through my curls,

told me my tears make your

eyelashes stick together.

Brushing your hand under my eyes, you

studied the salt, said

I was going to grow old from the lines

carving into my face.

We talked about true love, you

smelled of jasmine and sugar.

Laughter surrounded me

sunshine on a white capped wave,

bright as the last pink rose in fading fall.

We walked together, not speaking about

brothers or grandfathers or death.

I did not mention sleepless nights or the anger

under my skin. You did not

question naked lies. We

whispered about trivialities

foil wrapped chocolates and antique bottles.

We did not look into the tomorrow I was

braving. We did not turn to the

yesterday you were to return.