I had that dream again, the dream I hate the most.
You were on an iceberg and I was warm somewhere else.
Okay, I was warm somewhere else, but with someone else, and you weren't even on an iceberg and I wasn't even warm.
Someone else. That's the part I tried to keep quiet but that was hard because when I tried to keep spinning that yarn I couldn't since I left out the only true part, about someone else, and the someone else part is the needles.
When I wake up to tell you,
you who are not on an iceberg but here,
that I am sad to have been warm somewhere else,
that's a distraction from the someone else,
I just want you to touch my skin because your skin is the skin I would knit around myself if I had yarn left from the story I had to tell you, about someone else.
You couldn't have been on that iceberg, and I wasn't warm with someone else,
because you are real and your skin is already knitted around me and you share my bed.
I am glad you are not only in my memory that makes mean dreams.
You were touching my skin before I opened my mouth to tell the story
of the dream I hate the most.
I cannot even remember it now.