In twisted dreamscapes,
We meet most often,
Where the leather sky looms
And the forest shifts
Like tigers in the night. Borne on
By beasts and other figments
Of my mind, we run
Until hope escapes
Us. And in the end,
Before the waking bell,
We steal a final kiss.
Tongue without taste,
Touch without feel,
Even then I’m left
Wanting. But come the dawn,
Swift and bright,
You lie miles beyond
My reach. No glinted smile,
No air of grace. No arms await me,
No lips brush my face. Seas
Apart, we promise to bridge
The gap. But words mean less
Than fever dreams, and a night terror
Can comfort when distance
Does not. So if you plan
To leave me longing, please,
Let me lie.
He Who Wanders 
You should submit your poetry to publications or poetry out loud events!
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