I Dream Of A Normal Life With You Where Breakfast Lasts Until The Sun Goes Down

You are making breakfast
in every dream that I have
of you.

You are in the kitchen, your
soft middle pressed up against
the cold marble countertops
like a vision too beautiful for
the magazines, sprinkling
dark chocolate chips over
pancakes.

I think for a brief second that
I am dreaming inside of my dream,
that I had to make you up twice,
just to get it right.
You, brushing your dark hair out
of your face, smearing batter
across your cheeks.

You have come and made
my dreams smaller, narrower.
Filled them with sugar and
your body humming in the
same room as mine.

I dream, now, of a normal life
with you.
A life where breakfast lasts until
the sun goes down,
until I have finished gazing at
you from across
the table,
flour dried to your forehead
like a kiss.