Poetry

A Dream

I dream of ghosts,
fluid as smoke,
converging
on moonlit avenues
lined with silver birches;
a landscape
of coolest blues and softest greys
wrapping around me,
filling my lungs,
blurring
into a steely sea, waves
rising and falling,
thrashing and writhing,
beneath blackening clouds,
heavy with rain.

I dream of you,
emerging from the mist
with arms outstretched,
striking a single match, which,
with a hiss, a spark,
sets the world alight
with orange flames.
You rush to me
on a river of burning gold,
scorching the earth,
consuming all in its path,
devouring the distance
between us.

I shiver,
dreaming of warmth,
of the fire
beneath your skin.
But the ghosts linger
in the shadows of my mind
long after the sun rises.
I wake,
longing for your light.

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