My Dream                

By Ogden Nash

This is my dream,

It is my own dream,

I dreamt it.

I dreamt that my hair was kempt.

Then I dreamt that my true love unkempt it.        

Soft pattering of rain against the French windows.  Gentle, rumble of thunder on the very edge of hearing.  Grey light shifting around muted tones of faded sepia, slate, and cream, colours of the room, of your clothes--khaki, and taupe, and stone--mirroring the storm-washed shades of the quiet beach outside the comfortable little cottage.  Your book bobs closer...closer...ever closer to the couch as your eyes drift... Soothing heat radiating against your back as Chanyeol shifts in his sleep, the safe weight of his arm momentarily tightening, then relaxing around your waist, pulling closer toward the curv