DREAM

you are not a singer
nor have you ever
as far as i know
touched a guitar

yet here in your house
within the realm
of my dream
you hold an instrument

its body shiny
old polished wood
sits comfortably
in your hands

something in its neck
now breaks
its shape transforms
supple and pleased

you are not a singer
yet in my dream
at your table
you sing for me

my chin resting
on my hands
i look at you
in awe and disbelief

i am aware
as always
of how i look
how i show my face to you

yet your caramel eyes
your warm voice
suck me in
away from myself

gently, smoothly
you move away
from our common language
to your native one

and something
in me
changes shape and texture
forever

in love with something
neither my own language
nor the one we share
can describe

i feel
that yours can
– that something
so painfully sweet

you are not a singer
and we are not lovers
yet in the world of my dream
we can fleetingly be.