I did stumble in my dreams <br />on you <br />again, <br />yesterday. <br />It never ends. You seem to be <br />unfinished <br />love, <br />like <br />some form of art. <br />And not just you. <br />Sometimes I find <br />only footprints <br />going in and out <br />of my pages. <br />(Am I going insane?) <br /> <br />And then there are <br />the good ones <br />where <br />the pirates of my dreams <br />are sailing <br />in bottles of wine <br />between your breasts, <br />singing silly songs <br />about love <br />and carrying <br />love letters <br />and barrels <br />full <br />with my fines kisses <br />from my lips <br />to yours, <br />but never reach <br />that far. <br />They drown <br />in the drips of sweat <br />rolling down your neck, <br />They aren't <br />as smart <br />as they were. <br />They love. <br /> <br />I never know what to say, <br />what words <br />fit better. <br />I've tried to find, <br />but the poets I read <br />don't know <br />what I need <br />to trade <br />for a minute <br />of kisses. <br />Maybe dreaming <br />and writing poems <br />is not the best way <br />to make love.<br /><br />Junkyard Of Muses<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-best-way-to-make-love/
