"perhaps our hearts will have no reader"

i'm going to pretend that it's morning
and the fog has lifted
you have opened your eyes
and are looking at me,
smiling like a child

if there is a slight fragrance
left over from last night's incense
withered roses, fallen petals,
a white tee shirt draped
on the chair, embracing your trousers

it is just the remnants of a long dream.
something stirs this air
and pushes it to sheer ecstasy
melting into the spooned shape
of sleeping.

my heart has found its reader