I’m sorry I brought you into this. Dreams with spikes, wolves,
trains, beds of broken teeth, crushed & unripened cherries
of rayless maraschino, of open fires. Carnival-pink. Lute.
Lips of ice. Viscous as porcupine fruit. Dreams without
sweetness, no long walks after coffee, no salt & pepper
diamonds. Just me and you and dreams like this—
owls cow-punching bulls.

The Belletrist by Linette Marie Allen

Photo used under CC.