There is this dream, a recurring dream
that hits me, so many times a day now
while my eyes are open...
It takes place over a weekend, a long, hot weekend
and a midsummer night gently discarding
a pair of sandals in the corner,
the last remnant of the day's wears...
Cream colored walls smile,
not one offering up any objection or protest...
a slow fan overhead traces, again and again,
that most perfect of form,
While I trace another, embodying all beauty,
at once before me and glancing from the side
through an antique mirror, full length, circa 1890...
A room with a candle where an alarm clock should be,
as if I have been trusted in a refuge...
AT the edge of her throw rug we pause,
but it is not a thinking pause,
it is a moment captured in a Renoir...
She is a calm wrapped in an excited anticipation...
two bodies screaming, so close,
one to take, the other to be taken,
movements belying a mutual feeling
running deeper than the soul...
She is electric now, beckoning in minute subconscious ways,
her hair reaching for my fingers,
to know her and pull her in
so our hearts can mutually beat… boom… boom…
There are no shields now,
nothing left to prevent anything from happening
in this room,
so a close embrace
and the breath of a kiss...
I awaken, and it is so hard dealing with this dream
with a free weekend just ahead,
the moon rises in a golden yellow,
and there a blue birdies flying in circles overhead...
In a list
Comments
|
Adding your comment:
