Abundance
It is on that pillow-ey gray,
a cotton candy of our age
that old dreams are slumbering
only to sprout uncensored and intrepid
when I see your working boots
next to my galoshes,
your shiny big truck parked
ahead of my coltish car in the driveway
your thick socks mixed with my lace underwear in the laundry,
and I wake up and I am not dreaming anymore
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