The Day-Old Dream

In a world where mocha tastes like mint, I have heightened reason to believe I could sense you around a corner and run into your body, and we’d be there in a hug, an embrace. After hellos and words said to catch up, I’d reflect in this moment of seeing you and think, “Can I take this feeling with me when I go?” But instead of asking I tackle this word, this feeling, and tattoo it to my right ankle, and climb out of this day-old dream, and look up at you, now knowing I can leave all my mistaken mochas behind to some faulty taste buds and a pair of peeled eyes.