Middle of a Dream

She stopped in the middle of a dream, asked
if it was a dream, the sensations strong,
concrete – she felt the pressure of his touch,
the warmth of his breath as well as the scent.

She had no moonlight to filter… soften
the truth; no fantasy available
at her beck and call, only memories –
enough for a moment, barely a life.

Somewhere past midnight, in those brief little
hours before the sun decides to wake,
she was alone, tangled up in bed clothes
aching for that long lost reality.

She cannot will away the wakefulness;
can only close her eyes in the middle.