Jasmine Between Our Souls

I lay on jasmine sheets,

a cigar warm between my fingers,

under a white glow—

quiet, with your memory.

The clock of the world melts.

The sky crawls downward.

The pond trades my reflection

to the clouds

for a single drop.

I sit inside white smoke,

waiting to see you in a white gown,

waiting to hear your lips move—

just enough

for my lips to answer.

Once at dawn,

the mist wrapped you.

I watched you

in a blue gown,

walking alone

across the meadow.

And for a moment,

you brushed my dream—

turning it holy,

in a white gown,

with jasmine in your hands—

lying beside me

without needing to lie.

Your earrings swayed—

gentle, calm,

making music.

I listened

like the moon

listens to its own glow.

The tiny drop on your lips

spoke with my lips;

slowly, the jasmine released its perfume,

frightened by its own life—

and we remained there,

quietly resting inside that scent.