jungian dreams

i used to think
dreams were
those strange
broken
images
that psychologists
hold up to the light,
pinning limbs down
with dull needles.

after i met you,
dreams became

the taste of your
breath
the moment it
passes between
your parted lips,
but not a second
before,
or after.

my eyes
blind with sudden
sight
searching the brilliance
of you

and a feeling

a feeling
of some thing

a feeling

i have never
before

dreamed.