In this dream, I am the hollow of your throat, the sunshine that peels off us, already on a day in March. In this dream, I am not soft, you are not a bird. We tear at each other, white teeth, skin coming off, raw and bones. In this dream, I am the sky and you're drenched in May rain. In this dream, we are sunflowers in the fading sun. The spring wind half-kisses us, we bloom red, again, and again.
