Untitled Dream Poem

It was dark where he rested, Save for purple flickering candles. “burning fairies,” he chuckled like a little boy. I giggled, he makes me giggle, and placed them on the floor. The candles made us swim in pools of soft light, but they weren’t as soft as his lips against my shoulder. Or the words he whispered, the poetry that came like rain in the summer. Or his fingers like frantic birds making nest in my hair. The light will never be that soft, or that wonderful, his heart beat is gentle as is mine and in this ocean of cotton and smoke and shadow we are one. Until I wake up.