Somnipathy

Last night I dreamt of your hands There was soot On the tips of your fingers You were writing on my skin Three hundred and sixty-five questions To which I did not have answers To which you could not answer I wanted to wipe everything away But the soot remained And I stayed there Endlessly covered In the black of your fingers Last night I dreamt of your hands There was soot On the tips of your fingers You were writing on my skin I wanted to wipe everything away