whispers woven in sheets
When night arrives, it circles 'round,
The dream once lost is newly found.
I dream of her, with tangled hair,
Her skin like spring—so smooth, so fair.
Warm, slender hands run through my hair,
A fragile form that, held, might tear.
But morning comes—its blinding light,
The dream dissolves, fades out of sight.
No sounds remain, no vision clear,
Just silence loud, and nothing near.
My mind is calm, yet chest feels weighed,
Suffocated, soft and staid.
The dream retreats with silent grace,
She had no voice, no name, no face.
A sudden warmth upon my cheek—
A ghost of touch I cannot seek.
Still I wait for night to fall,
For whispered dreams to once more call.
On this bed I lie between
The longing sheets, where she has been.
She is my secret, soft, unseen—
A heaven held in in-betweens.
Copyright © sal noman | Year Posted 2025
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