Sleep on it

It’s that dream again. You know the one with all the honey and grandfather clocks, and time is ticking in viscous strands.  The sky is falling but its all papier-mache, just spit and newspaper, your sweet nothings and I told you so‘s. I’m holding your hands and you ask for them back but I hide them. You think I gift wrapped them and put them in the mail so they can surprise you on your doorstep, but it’s all rain, snow, sleet and hail here. You’re getting colder. You think I swallowed them so I could make a knuckle sandwich joke, and now that you mention that I wish I did. You’re getting warmer. You look down and see that I’m wearing your hands and you know I did this so you could feel what it was like to be me, but these dreams aren’t about empathy and cheap world play. They’re about you, they’re always about you, you in motion, you descending a stair case, you smashing into me. You can be anybody here in my dreams, anyone I wanted you to be, but you are always you. Your angles. Your vectors. Your wheeze. Coarse breath against a cup of coffee and a stack of pancakes. We’re at your kitchen table and I’m holding your hands, but this time they’re attached to your arms and I like them better there, thats where they belong.  The food is getting cold and the coffee is counting down the minutes, but there will always be more coffee and pancakes, this though will be gone if we snap the freeze frame. You know I’m a big dreamer and this one right here is the biggest I’ve had yet, so let’s start boiling water and beating eggs into Bisquick, let’s never wake up.

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