your face before dawn

My dreams are innocent things –
your arm around me is all I need.
your hand in mine says everything.

Then as I wake up
the next moments shake up
the image gradually -
etch-a-sketch visions
can’t survive reality.

My dreams of late are bittersweet:
sweet that I’m with you,
bitter that they’re not true.

I’m not sure what I want now,
but this nothing’s too much.
I’m not sure what I need now,
but this whatever just sucks.

I wake up to my present reality:
empty lungs craving nicotine,
empty space lacking gravity.
I don’t miss the habit, but I miss our past.
I don’t miss the orbit, but I miss your mass.

Bread tastes the sweetest when it flakes.
The heart always soars before it breaks.
It feels good to see your face before dawn,
even though I know it’s time to move on.