Waking up

So sometimes now,
When your face meets my dreaming eye
More often than my waking one,
I sit and think
That maybe it was all a dream
And I the dreaming fool.

Your sunturned face,
And caught light dancing at your jaw,
Quick sharp slope of brow and nose,
Those crinkling eyes,
That churning secret smile kept
There only for yourself;

Oh, are these things
of you or me? Of my mind or of your body?
Could I have dreamt them without you?
It matters not.
For real or not, they haunt me still,
And leave me empty-handed.