My T is always my T when I dream of him, but we're in all sorts of different places, often with different people. Sometimes I know the other people, sometimes I don't... Once he was sound asleep in my bed 
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'...
At poor peace I sing
To you strangers (though song
Is a burning and crested act,
The fire of birds in
The world's turning wood,
For my sawn, splay sounds,)
...'
Dylan Thomas, Author's Prologue
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