I’m having dreams about you when I’m awake.
I don’t know your name,
but you are dark haired and beautiful.
(I think I made you up.)
I think I feel in love with you.

That’s not saying much.
I fall in love with everyone, these days.
It’s a symptom of chronic loneliness:
to make homes out of hands you
never even touched. But
enough about me.

What about you?

How do you take your coffee and which
song makes you think of your mother and
if I asked you, would you sit still and
just hold me?
See,

I think my body is convinced she’s an island.
Lost at sea. She’s willing
to tether herself to almost anything.
Please,

If I look a little wild-eyed to you,
forgive me. I’m just
trying to catch kisses
from the memory
of a daydream.