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