You rise too late; the dream will dissipate
while you uncross and cross your waking legs.
Your heartbeat and your breath are both too late
to make the ghostly solid while she begs
in wisps of words, your soul’s own memory
of sex between the thinnest of your sheets.
Unspoken, still you hear her ghostly plea
and waking, hope tonight the dream repeats.
Although you know it isn’t just a dream
you wait. Too late, your life will dissipate
and living death will be the death it seems.
Your heartbeat dreams and breath will soon abate,
while you untangle all your waking dreams,
and there she’ll be, exactly as she seems.