图片发自简书App
If I find myself walking in a fog, baby,
was I dreaming?
You are next to me,
standing in the heart of the city.
If this were to be a dream,
can I close my eyes
and land the tip of my finger
on your skin,
for a touch?
Passing the fog with me,
you turned around smiling
without noticing what that was
attached to your cheek—
a daisy,
swinging,
sprout out of my touch.
图片发自简书App
