Les Poèmes №1 — She Came To Me in a Dream

Adam Eyves
2 min readJul 16, 2021

A short poem and exposé based on a dream so powerful it redefined my notion of love while I dealt with a Borderline Personality Disordered spouse.

Marc Chagall “Lovers and Flowers”

In October 2011, I awoke from a dream so vivid and powerful that it redefined my notion of genuine love. The vividness of that dream was breathtaking, and I wished to remain asleep in that dream forever.

I found myself lying in the arms of the most beautiful soul I had ever known. I could feel the softness of my lover’s body as I laid in her arms. I could smell the perfume on her neck as her hair splashed across my face. Her affections were feminine, beautiful, tender, warm, and life-giving. I was enraptured.

I remember her fingers running through my hair as she teased me, then us laughing about something I’ve since forgotten. But mostly, we bathed in the emotional soundness of each other’s presence, sharing a love that had no beginning nor end. In the dream, our love was an eternal moment.

The dream is unforgettable, and my lover in the dream haunted me for years as it contrasted with the black love I was experiencing at the time. My relationship with my ex-wife was near death and rotting, full of her mentally disordered gangrene. Eight years later, she left, and I began to live again.

Dreams do come true. I found my ethereal nocturnal lover, my needle in the haystack, my gift from God, and I married her. With her support, I now flourish and know what authentic marriage is. I can rest.

Le Poème №1 — She Came To Me in a Dream

October 2011

Her fair skin against which I lay,
Her silky essence, an aroma so pure,
I forgot myself while cradled in her bosom.

Tracing my fingers with her own,
She whispers secrets in my ear,
Floating them like butterflies,
A ballet of wishes and intimate pleasures.

They danced across my heart,
I, her audience, she, my puppeteer.

She alone, I beg for,
Yearning for the key to her virtuous heart,
Her virginal, I unworthy.

I lay silent and weak, as a beggar without food,
Afraid to move for fear of awakening from the sweetest of dreams.

Adam Eyves

Writer, editor, storyteller, sailor, and coffee drinker. I think, I question, I imagine. I am a philosopher at heart, and a connoisseur of all good things.