I used to dream about love.
I guess I still do,
but in a different way.
Now I dream
about who I can love,
instead of who is going to love
I have this fantasy
where you don’t have a girl
and I win the lottery.
We wouldn’t be extravagant,
just pay off our student loans,
buy a nice home.
Three bedrooms and a garage,
enough space for O to run,
and a swing set and a slide.
Space for an alpaca or two.
You’d get a Firebird
and I the gold Bug.
College funds for the boys.
You could take a year or two off work.
I’d pay for your firefighter training.
I’d probably give the rest away
because I’d be the richest woman alive
with you by my side.
I had a beautiful dream last night,
or at least it started out that way.
You showed up at my house;
I don’t know why, but you stayed.
We laid in the driveway
and talked while we watched the sky.
There were more stars than I knew existed.
And as the universe grew bigger,
the space between us grew smaller.
Almost innocent, yet oh so intimate.
We talked for hours,
until I told you to go home.
The responsible thing to do
because I couldn’t let you do that to her.
But then there was chaos.
I don’t know if you ever made it home;
couldn’t find you
and woke up distressed.
Visit me again while I sleep
and we can pick up where we left off.