It had been a very long time since a dream burned me up like that.
The thought of his strong hands on my bare skin.
Of the sunlight peeking through the corner window of a loft.
Forgive me for these thoughts lord,
forgive me because it’s a pattern.
it’s the devil,
it’s my pussy.
But that dream,
the deepness of his eyes,
the need and hunger in his kiss.
How can unsaid thoughts be so clearly understood in a dream?
And then the thoughts returned to sadness.
Bob haunts me in every new friendship.
But this is different.
I can feel his skin close to mine.
I can feel how small my body is.
The golden sunlight on my breast as my dress drops open on that counter.
I can feel you entering me.
Eyes piercing my soul.
The fur of your forearms grazing my sides.
The smallness of my hands on your broad shoulders.
You bring me flowers when you visit.
Always white flowers.
You place them at my feet before I drop my robe.
You whisk me away and take from me the knowledge,
needed for your own pen.
There is such a vividness to this dream, this memory.
It is unlike a love ever seen.
I am hungry.
I want his laughter,
I crave it.
I want to make him a home.
There in that loft,
Here in my womb,
I want to hold him close and bring him peace.
And this is what makes my love a vagrant.
She always comes oh so close to my skin right before I awake.
She caresses my cheeks,
tracing the lines around my mouth with her thin finger tips.
She whispers lines that haunt me all day.
“I have placed 6 gold coins in your fountain.” as she vows and walks away.
She adores me.
She loves me.
She offers me the world.
And yet I fear.
I’m afraid to reach out because I know how I love.
I know I am forgetful and distant.
I doubt she’d understand,
that I fear what I’m becoming.
I fear the softness of her breast,
Her eagerness to be adored.
We bring each other flowers.
And when I finally cradle her softly,
When I finally kiss the hem of her skirt,
I will pray,
Like I did for all the others,
that she will never leave.