The One With Mr. Sandman.

Dear Lover,

I like to think.

That the man in my dream last night.

Was you.

Even if I was upset with him.

Screamed and shouted.

And got nowhere.

So took him up to our children's treehouse.

Sat with my legs crossed.

And instead calmly told him how I felt.

Pointed and said, I hurt here and here and here.

Then, to show him how much I still loved despite it all.

Lifted his oversized top I was wearing.

Up and over his head and around his shoulders.

So we could share that tight space.

Pressed together within the comfort.

Of an old t-shirt.

Love,

Me.