Dream Face

I reach up and touch
his face, just a gentle
brush of my fingertips.
His cheek is soft, warm
and young,
a rough stubble around
the mask of his shaven face.

He smiles, a warm hello,
eyes alive and deep
deep brown.
Forbidden.
He cuddles me,
because he wants
because I want.
A cuddle is good?
A cuddle is bad?

Conversation limited
by age, by time,
by thoughts
by dreams.

My dreams are
so sensory,
so alive,
so real.

My dreams are
of loneliness
of desire,
of comfort
of hope.