Ruth Walters (London, U.K.)

Cloaked in a billowing duvet, I dream of you,
sweeter than the rain on a hot summer's day.
We drift along brightly lit streets where
chatter filters through restaurant doors.

We float, smiling and laughing as we dance,
I, your Ginger Rogers, you my Fred Astair,
then sunlight trickles through the curtains,
waking me as the alarm clock rings.

You're lost in a nowhere land, a dream.
it's just the duvet next to my skin.
The kitchen calls with an empty kettle
and washing up in the sink.

but my mind is on better things,
it returns to golden pavements,
sun drenched hands, gloving each other
and smiles flicker across my lips.