she was a dream
soft
and ephemeral
a dream
in which i loved
the way demented nuns
love god
she was a dream
and i
a dreamer
it was the perfect
dream
from which
i would not wake
and yet i sit
writing of Gertrude Stein
and Hemingway
unable to sleep
unable to dream
she was a dream
and i cannot sleep
to see her
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