By: Kim Conway
She comes alive and blazing when I’m dreaming.
When nightingales out sing passerines.
Songs swap between our dreams, while we are sleeping.
She’s awake late nights painting, live music streaming.
Unpenned letters sent,
with messages and signs.
I am reaping the love behind brusque glances, gleaming.
In times between our loads of laundry and the caffeine
she might dote on when I’m dreaming.
Bright lights of colours in the dark night beaming
on smoke screens,
of the lightless while we are sleeping.
We rage against the dawns and twilights screaming,
and lay in drapeless seams.
I’ll nod in her direction when I’m not dreaming;
Address another letter, while we are sleeping.
Kim Conway is a poet in multiple verses, spoken word and translation. She lives as a hand maiden to three ridiculously young sons off the highly floodable New River in Virginia. She is an avid reader and sucks at shooting pool, but loves to anyway. She is also addicted to caffeine, and though she may have given up cigarettes, she vapes dessert flavored juices as if they may one day pay her rent.