“Dreamt last night I fed you, unknowingly, something you were allergic to. And you were gone, like that. You don’t have even a single allergy, but still. The dream cracked. Cars nosedived off snow banks into side streets. Sometimes dreams slip poison, make the living dead then alive again, twirling in an unfamiliar room. It’s hard to say I need you enough. Today I did. Walked into your morning shower fully clothed. All the moments we stop ourselves just because we might feel embarrassed or impractical, or get wet.”
— “Morning Love Poem,” Tara Skurtu