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The man in all your dreams


You won't know 'cause I won't tell you,

You won't see, I'll keep it dark, you won't

Guess 'cause I can hide it, in a box I call

My heart. On a table in a hallway are

Some letters trimmed in blue, I confess I

Never sent them, though they're all

Addressed to you.


There'll be no proof to go on, no litmus

Paper test, no formal indicators, no way

For you to guess. No clues to how I'm

Feeling, no measure, cup or jug, no scale

On which to weigh my heart, no way for

You to judge.


Your friends may not believe you, they'll

Smile and look away, too much designer

Stubble, the shirt too torn, too frayed. The

Man too picture perfect, his love too much

By half, and as for where he keeps you,

'In a box he calls his heart?'


An ideal mystery lover, the man who

Drives you mad, the man who never

Touched you, but oh how you wish he

Had. The man on every hoarding, the

Man in magazines, the man you hope

One day to meet, the man in all your



©Joseph G Dawson


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