It Is That I Am Dreaming Poem by Mark. A Heathcote

There must be times you kiss me.
And wonder why his eyes are firmly closed.
Why are his eyes shut ever so tightly—right?
It is that I am dreaming that our souls
They have been delicately superimposed.
And yet neither eclipses the other.

In liquid sobs, darling, I hold you gently.
As gentle as an inkless white goose feather.
Noticing every notch down your spine
And write my love in a serpent rhythmic rhyme.
It's only when my eyes wholeheartedly open that I know.
You are still truly mine, body and soul.