Just a Thought

I never see her face, only her wake.

She would not be dreamt about, but would be the dream I wish I had.

My Dream: The state of matter in which a substance exhibits a characteristic readiness to flow, little or no tendency to disperse, and relatively high incompressibility.

Like warm soothing liquid
lost in the question of purpose,
she slips through my hopeful hands
as if they belonged to a blind man.