Memory of Gold
I awaken from surreal, forgotten dreams to see a stray hair of yours on the pillow, a fine gossamer thread, golden in the lamplight.
Future scientists might put it in a miraculous scanner and build in three-dimensional genetic-perfection a replica of you; such is the psychedelic creativity of my early morning mind.
But I prefer this real token of your presence you have left me, for my memory and imagination to recreate, in your absence . Its physical reality assuring me this was not just a dream.
And, even though it may feel like a month, a week apart is not so very long, really.