in a dream i had
i held you in my hands
and like a smooth stone
rubbed my fingers
all over your skin

but unlike the stone
you were bristled
along your jawline
with small bumps
on your back
and soft tight curls
atop your head

and unlike the stone
you were warm even before
we touched
and you warmed,
o you, stone in my hands,
you warmed the stone
in my chest
which was never
or bristled
or textured with anything
but naivete
and hope
and the lingering touch
of a waxing desire.