i sneeze at least once before going to bed.

dreams of crashing planes and cats that aren't there.

once i was shot and killed on a bus in spain,

i dove into a lake at sunset;

color continuing into water.

and when you slept next to me,

i didn't dream at all.

your sweaty body up against mine;

i couldn't tell if i was asleep or not.

and the next night,

i flew on a magic carpet

to see someone who didn't want to see me.

sheets crumped and pillows askew,

a crack emanates from deep within my spine.

i smile, unable to recall

whether i dreamt of you or whether i lay still

a crow perched on a branch.