Sky turns an amazing shade of blue
and though I've dreamt this six times
your shillouette as you make breakfast
is the only reality I want to accept.
Cerulian skies, but your eyes have
become the standard for all the hues.
Ink colored hands over paper white skin,
unable to tell whether horizon or sin
I can breathe this moment.
And I wonder, out there
what the sea is up to.