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Midnight. I wake up in her candle-lit bedroom, our bodies cupped, my hand resting on her breast. She snuggles closer, says, “Again?” And later, “Stay tonight.”
In the dream, small black dogs turn somersaults and jump through fiery hoops. The spotlit high-wire artist, a red-sequined woman balanced on his shoulders, takes a tentative step. Below, a clown cavorts with a butterfly net to catch them when they fall.
the too-tight blankets
published originally in Simply Haiku.