it was for the gypsy i dreamt.  stark blue reflections and gilded lashes.  enfant gitan, her mother should have; would have called her.  she danced with abandon and lived with grace.  her hair covered my face in the dark.  lavender and cherry blossoms.  the arch of her back and the sweet sweat on her upper lip.  it was for her i dreamt and of her i lived.  she held me with a sigh.  the stars burned us from the distance of love.  je t'aime.  she exhaled the words.  je t'aime mon ange.  it was for her loss i dreamt and of her loss i lost.  my fingers sought her hips in the warm twilight garden.  love kills fear.  and makes it.  a fountain gurgling nearby sang of darkness and stones; sunless shores and hidden caverns.  we crushed our sadness beneath our bodies.  she smiled against my chest.  it was for her smile i dreamt and of her laughter i grew.  one world of light, one of darkness, we two always on the cusp; always dawn and dusk.  my palm found her neck, my fingers in her hair and my thumb against her cheek.  she melted into the daisies.  the embers glowed white-yellow in the hedgerow.  it was of her eyes i dreamt and for her gaze i felt.  orange night and azure cloud.  appetite sated.  muscles aching.  i kissed her forehead.  mon coeur, i said.  my heart.  she bit my lower lip just enough to draw blood.  i smiled around her and bit her upper lip.  we tasted each other in the half-light, one soul.  we were alive.  it was of her lips i dreamt and for her lips i did ache.  it is loss.  it is lost.