שושן ויש בו קוץ

his face, replaced by the face of a man of the same origin
his lips by lips of the same texture

trying to achieve balance: one foot on this continent, and the other on another
he shows me pictures of a child he had with a mexican woman.
this child is beautiful. if we were to make a baby he would have the same complexion.
this stunning man would make a wonderful father.

these thoughts are impossible, yet i think them all the time.
he had a dream about me,
i dream about him daily.
and in a haze of a dream, inspired by thirteen blunts in a row, i saw us standing next to each other, both dressed in white, kissing
then i saw him in the hospital holding me, while i was holding our baby,
then i forced myself to open my eyes and started saying something, but couldn't
i wasn't able to word it
to phrase this emotion
to express it in a way that wouldn't chase him away
so i just started crying. i think he understood, i think he knew exactly why i was crying, because when he noticed my tears he didn't ask or say nothing. he just kissed me again and held me tighter. please, i felt like screaming, please take me with you when you leave, take me with you and make me your constant lover and your best friend and your woman and the mother of your children and you know just how fucking perfect we are for each other.
so lets make this happen.