Morning mists arrive on ebbs
like dreams obscuring
and last night`s skies when dawn arrives.
Again I reach for you
and grasp emptiness,and,
I`m reminded that dreams are only dreams.

Another day.
Another substitute for you---
she caresses me and laughs
while bidding me "good morning".
We make a melancholy kind of love
while morning mists refract on these old tears
and unwashed window panes.

Morning mists are lovely in this place and time of year.
I often think of how you`d look beside me
as the shadows change
to different shades of warmth.
Or how your eyes
would capture Spring.
(I often think
of how you`d look
in morning mists like these
while telling me,"I`m yours".)

Morning mists arrive on ebbs
of dreams obscuring,
like everything ;like all others
never-ever being you.
I touch someone
who very-truly loves me.
But dreams are always only dreams.

And the morning mist is you.

Only you.

-Rick James 2001