Only In Dreams

I dance blindly, flailing, my arms outstretched
and empty;
my fingers touch air and nothing more
and I cannot see you, cannot see
the glimmering flash of a solitary eye
or even the whip of your hair
disappearing around a corner.
I am alone in this desultory gloom,
an island, weathered by storms, 
a desolate, vacant space, missing vibrancy,
missing colour, bleeding hope,
hemorrhaging violently.

My screams are mute and directionless;
I don't know where you have gone.

When I am asleep, all changes,
the world lights up from beneath
as if it is on fire, a burning piece of paper
fluttering into the sun. 
The sky is an inferno of riotous colour,
and I can smell you, can feel you, the texture
of your shirt and pale skin, warm in my hands,
no longer empty. You have never
been so close, so touchable, so vivid,
so intimate beneath my fingers,
and I clutch at you, at your thick hair,
place my hands around your hot cheeks,
allowing your tears to soak me.

I drink you up, even as you say you aren't truly gone,
even as you lie to me, lie with me, burning,
scorching me. I welcome the heat,
wish to be immolated, to be consumed,
to be a part of you, 
even in fiction.