the dream girl

dreamy.jpeg

tell me, truly.
was it me you hoped for?
was it my face
that would grace your slumber,
my voice that pulled you under?
did your mind’s pencil
sweep out my sides,
sketch out the curves of my legs,
the contours of my back, my hips,
the softness of my cheeks,
the flutter of my eyes,
the red smudge of my lips?
did you compose
the titter of my laugh
on telephone wires,
pick out my smile
in the tangle of the clouds,
imitate my signature
in the corners of your school books?
you old romantic,
you did not.
i know my feet
do not fit the glass slipper,
and my hair does not fall
on the pillow
in the grooves that you traced
at three AM,
in lonely longing.
i know that my voice
does not ring
as you wished,
i know my body does not move
as the dream-girl could,
but then again –
i had dreams, too.

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6 thoughts on “the dream girl

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