You were in my dream last night,
and so wonderfully misbehaved.
Surprised by your aggressiveness,
but even more so that it’s shaved.
Funny how quickly we got it on,
hot and heavy like two lovebirds,
when we only met once at the bar,
barely exchanging a few words.
Should we meet again sometime,
I’ll try my hardest not to blush;
looking for a hint in your face,
that you might also have a crush.
Had I visited you in your dreams,
acting as naughty as you in mine?
Was it every bit as good for you?
Am I asking too much for a sign?
Is it really even worth pursuing?
Perhaps it’s better left to dreams.
The real you might be a disaster;
fantasy’s the safer path, it seems.
One day I may be back at the bar,
downing a beer when you arrive.
I’ll fantasize we'd hit it off awake,
and passively keep the dream alive.
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