the moon leaves imprints
dusts of fairies
on my shoulder
tan lines from its bright saucy nature
that interior glow so reminiscent
of an atomic explosion
that blisters and scars
angry red welts
no rather
this is like the freeze the doctor uses
the rich dermatologists
burning out your warts
creating bruises
deftly shadowing the inner crooks of your arms
that light fails to reach
and is soft to the touch
of baby bottoms

Its like I was free
for about an instant, the split second only your best friend usually captures behind her aunt's old camera
but I was looking in a mirror, aware of every freckle, every eyelash, the tilt of my saucy bottom lip pink with childish lipgloss.
my bottom eyelashes were black like a dolls and I looked like I was looking up, yet I was looking straight ahead. Everything was tilted and my cheeks looked pink.
My face for once, not greasy, but glowing, slightly.  My hair looked longer and caught the light.
I saw myself the way I think you see me. The way I imagine I should be seen. But it was, for that second, like seeing a stranger, when I caught my reflection, at the store that afternoon.

I'm building these dreams
out of my dream houses
with its walls lined with bookshelves
(that you built me)
to hold my manuscripts of stories
(I wrote about us)
in its enchanting nooks and crannies
and open white spaces
with no walls between us
 some nights it tumbles
some nights the walls
and the noises of your music
wears me thin
and I cradle my head and wonder what I have gotten myself into again
then I slip inside my dream
and there you are
in real life
and its one and the same and I am thrilled
to be dreaming once again.