She said that she’d never had any dreams of her own maybe that is why i can’t keep her out of mine. in these dreams she’d lay smooth flesh over wrinkled words trembling vowels and rolling consonants fell to her lap so she and the story would climax in unison. she read volumes of her memories to me and i turned them up hoping that love would be the last thing i heared. hoping that love would be part of the mixture in those confectionary lies that she fed me. they were the type that clung to the roof of my mouth for so long that they dissolved into her name on the tip of my tounge. i tried to savor it i held it for as long as i could before it became just a vapor to sweeten my whispers.