It’s shape we first desire — the silhouette
with a sterile mask or draped with a strapless dress —
from our unburnished eyes to our hopeful eyes,
we attempt to equate form and substance ::

Me: But dreams are substance without form.
You: The substance is the form the dream arrives —
did it present in color, black and white,
grayscale, or suggest hues?

did you sweat or ejaculate?
did you scream or sigh?
did you mumble through it?
did you see me in an orange velvet skirt

stroll down the street on a shady, humid afternoon
with a trace breeze as I entered an antique shop,
a cinema, a frame gallery, a coffee store
with earthenware cups of lava?

When you see me in dream or elsewhere,
my curves awaken you.
When you wake, my shape is a silhouette
of our last memory you desire.