This piece of writing is in response to Denise’s six sentence story prompt word – Dream.
I want to ride a cloud to your bedside
and make it into a silky soft pillow
for your overthinking head to rest on.
I want to sing love songs into your dream
of thousands of sunflowers in Tuscany.
In response, you flicker your sickle moon lashes,
mumbling an affectionate language only we know.
Even the nightingale stops singing and listen.
Touch-me-nots open without shame
waiting to hear the interpretation.
The secret garden comes alive.
