X,

I dreamt of you again, on a night when sleep only came in whispers; intimations - on and off, as the potted plants in windowsills welcomed the incoming sun.

This time it was different, not underwater colored like a Mazzy Star song. Not blurred along the edges or shaded with gray pencil. This time it was more like a symphony in bright daylight, orchestrated and cleverly angled, leaving space to wonder what I don't yet know.  It was the kind of warm that moves you forward, not backwards like a lullaby. Electric warm. Ice warm. Sharp without cutting skin.

It wasn't winter anymore.

You brushed a curl away from my eyes so that you could see them. Your fingers grabbed at endless hair.
I never remember how the good kisses begin. They start as if we're powerless to the movements of our lips. Even in dreams.

"This train is moving too fast," I said. We were sitting in a coffee shop. "But I don't want to slow down."

Then the scene changed and there was brick. You were strong but also gentle, holding me against my bedroom wall. I felt as if I might disappear or explode, all at once. When I tasted your lips, all at once, the landscape slipped from my grasp.

I said something I wouldn't say if I wasn't dreaming. "I want to show you me," I said, slinking from your grasp. I unbuttoned myself slowly; your eyes covered me like a blanket. Electric warm. Ice warm. Sharp without cutting skin.

Hannah Miet