(after reading too much Shakespeare)
If this is but a dream,
Why can I not dream it?
Is this heart so hard
That it would deny me sport,
that transpires
Only in my own mind?
If it be love,
If it be love,
Then it is enough
That I feel it,
and in feeling it
make it real,
to peal it
like a precious pear,
to savor each slice
in the darkness of night,
to keep mine company
to become real
if only in this dream I dream,
where none other
need feel it but me.
If this be a dream
It is the best of dreams,
The sweetest of dreams,
A dream that I must dream
or cease to exist.
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