Dreaming

We sleep together. 

Physically

Sexually

We have done so now for nearly fifty years

Our days have a lovely rhythm of caring, of warmth and anticipation.

Friending.

I know how he will be to, with, for, by and from me 

In his love

All the conjugations and all of the declensions.

Yet at night we are apart. 

His dreams are strangers to me, a part of him I will never know. 

Of course, we talk about them. 

It's part of our breakfast routine. 

"Had some good one's last night, kicking and twitching like Toby,” I say.

“I thought you were going to bark."

"Football" he'd say. "2-0, half time. Pegged ’em to 2-2.  

Penalty shootout. 

We won." 

I only ever got the headlines; 

Black and white summaries of a technicolor world. 

He never got anything. 

I know that I dream but I don't know what I dream.

I read somewhere that when young you dream about the future.

When you are old you dream about the past. 

Not for him. 

He is always dreaming about the future.

Now he is gone I miss his dreams almost as much as I miss

His love.