âDreamt last night I fed you, unknowingly, something you were allergic to. And you were gone, like that. You donât have even a single allergy, but still. The dream cracked. Cars nosedived off snow banks into side streets. Sometimes dreams slip poison, make the living dead then alive again, twirling in an unfamiliar room. Itâs hard to say I need you enough. Today I did. Walked into your morning shower fully clothed. All the moments we stop ourselves just because we might feel embarrassed or impractical, or get wet.â
â âMorning Love Poem,â Tara Skurtu

















