Gentle Musings

In my dream you stood

spilling rivers of crystalline hopes

sowing sanguinity for harvest,

watching as I asphyxiated, grasping at flimsy rationale.

 

In my dream you laid down to look at the sky

and in that moment I took and was taken.

 

There are days when I wish

to rip the clouds from your eyes

watching as each gauzy tendril snaps

from your bark colored prison

floats, undulating, formless,

to a home carved for anyone else.

 

In my dream your clouds were taken, lost

and as two hard halves of a boiled egg stared up

I peeled back the translucent film to inspect

what had been hidden.

 

Reaching, I pulled out garish stars which seared my skin,

an acrid aroma enveloping us as you let me play operation.

Orion’s belt came easy and you chuckled as I tried it on,

lamenting, it clashed with the north star you placed about my neck.

 

Into the obscurity that had become your eyes,

in my dream you stood.


 

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