Do you ever suddenly scent someone? I mean someone not near you physically but you sense them like your own arm, and know their soul brushes yours? Distances or worlds are irrelevant. He could be right here or hundreds of miles away.
I wonder if that is another reality so close, truth permeates this place. The ripples of the worlds atop one another, folded, creased together closest when I am about to drift off. It's right there, isn't it? I can smell it.
I am hope, floating wispy and secret across a darkened night sky. No guiding stars, only a scent. And I release into a fecund night, my strings cut quick and off I float as a kite. Clouds that conjoin and dissipate, reform and streak, filmy advancing across a shadowy sky.
The sensation of my nose gently grazing your neck, the laugh lines of my checks against your stubble. But aren't I asleep? Aren't you elsewhere? Yet, I feel the length of your body fit a crescent line against the back of mine, a support beam, a foundation for my dreams. Lean in, I'll let go.
From there, my posture does not falter and my dreams expound, expand, bound...far beyond the stuff of waking moments. Steps of giants leaping across miles long crags. Lightning would crack the world apart, the real land beneath, soft and loamy like the cracks in a working man's hands. Fertile. There, in those dreams, my garden blooms.
And if you should chance to wake, in some witchy hour, perhaps it is another you, another me, swimming in saline sleep against a murky reality. I am a cloud; watch me drift across the sliver of your moon.
I wonder if that is another reality so close, truth permeates this place. The ripples of the worlds atop one another, folded, creased together closest when I am about to drift off. It's right there, isn't it? I can smell it.
I am hope, floating wispy and secret across a darkened night sky. No guiding stars, only a scent. And I release into a fecund night, my strings cut quick and off I float as a kite. Clouds that conjoin and dissipate, reform and streak, filmy advancing across a shadowy sky.
The sensation of my nose gently grazing your neck, the laugh lines of my checks against your stubble. But aren't I asleep? Aren't you elsewhere? Yet, I feel the length of your body fit a crescent line against the back of mine, a support beam, a foundation for my dreams. Lean in, I'll let go.
From there, my posture does not falter and my dreams expound, expand, bound...far beyond the stuff of waking moments. Steps of giants leaping across miles long crags. Lightning would crack the world apart, the real land beneath, soft and loamy like the cracks in a working man's hands. Fertile. There, in those dreams, my garden blooms.
And if you should chance to wake, in some witchy hour, perhaps it is another you, another me, swimming in saline sleep against a murky reality. I am a cloud; watch me drift across the sliver of your moon.
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