She kisses me so sweetly in the night.

I think this happens. I feel like this happens.

In between one of the chronic dreams I have of my Father trying to kill me and a dream I have of capture-the-flag with wild animals.

She kisses me.

Once with her lips over top my upper lip. Once with her lips over top my bottom lip.

She kisses me.

And it's all so hazy. It's all sprinkled in mist and fog. It all sneaks in and rests, then escapes. Rushes out. Leaves.

But I'm left with this sensation. This fulfillment in the absence of Her. This sustaining warmth that lasts and lasts and lasts.

And I may have created all these things. I may have conjured them up with my imagination. They may all be me.

And I'm not sure it matters. I'm not sure I care.

I have the impression within me.

I have it.

And I like it.