The Fear

Late at night on a crisp cool eve
She rouses briefly to perceive
 
A ghostlike man resting in bed
Book in hand, bowing his head
 
He glances up toward the girl
With a smile ever so wistful  
 
Tears escape her bright blue eyes
For she, in dream, has crossed the skies
 
To be with this perfect man
Contrary to space-time convention
 
With an air of catlike grace  
Approaching him, closing the space  
 
She joins with him to rest
Lithe fingers spread across his chest
 
...