I dreamed of you last night

I dreamed of you last night
and in that dream of mine you died.

You were all cheekbones
with that cheeky smile
that brings on stormy rain
but promises of summer
(and perhaps a bit of snow on Christmas).
It wasn’t terrifying, not per se –
I’ve seen your death a million times,
and I have built your coffin
with one-sided panels
of wood and metal in disguise.

But there I was, awake,
and bit my nails
and clutched the air,
holding on to what you left me;
nothing, really,
except some tender words
and those same, repeated nightmares.

I hope you are not haunted.
I hope your room is free
of any of these memories,
and that your heart is quiet
when you walk about
the silent city
in the middle of the night.

I guess it was a premonition
of the day you really died.