The real world is no better than the ideal.

You can labor all night in a dream

And wake tired,

And suddenly remember with guilt

How you called someone

By the wrong name

The entire time,

Only to realize it upon waking.

A mistaken identity 

In a parallel realm?

Or a wishful Freudian slip?

Now I remember the face of the man in my dream,

Who, all night long,

Never corrected me,

Yet whose eyes belied the disappointment,

And I feel I should have known.

But try as I will,

Can I ever recur to him

To make amends?

-jenn