I dreamt my lover was in the garden, as the cherry blossoms fell like a snowstorm, but in springtime, coursing whitely, piling palely, with tales of summer yet to tell.
I dreamt my lover was in the garden, because you were no longer there, to come between us, with youthful beauty, so intoxicating, pure lines and shadows, sulky sex so shattering, causing me my living hell.
I dreamt my lover was in the garden, sunshine dazzling in golden curls, blue eyes changing into green, light glistening off white teeth and raindrops on darkened skin, chiseled body I know so well.
I dreamt my lover was in the garden, and then I awoke to current times, where he lives with you and your boy child, clever conquering creature lurking, in your home with no garden, and my heart broke as it fell.
Lisa Farber is a writer living in Minnesota.