I saw the way you dreamed about me
and though we were both inadequately dressed
for a summer monsoon
I liked the way your hair stayed dry.
Pull me up into your lavender room.
We’ll warm ourselves on the wilted wind
the rain left behind
and speak about the sequences
To see past the blueberries and the honeysuckle
our eyes become fixed
on the green light brightly
filtering the subtle movements of breath along
the curve of a back
arched and tense.
Tell me of the music that was playing
the night you dreamed
It was a Cuban number we listened to.
The tempo matching the heat
of the lavender room.
You asked me to take you to Madrid
for you had never been there
and neither had I.
A strange opportunity.
A chance that life provided to us that we still
And I told you
as we lay
on the floor
my face buried in the back of your neck
and your eyes gazing out at the lightning