Drifting Out Of Dream

“Drifting Out Of Dream”

   She comes drifting out of dream, long tresses changing from raven to red, canary to chestnut, like a rainbow reflecting all the beautiful things about her. She doesn’t speak, there’s no need to. She knows me, I know her, and in the fantasy state I am familiar with every inch of her form, beneath the flowing gown she paints herself in.  
   I have held her so many times in the unwaking that her body seems molded just for my embrace, as if we are the perfect fit of heaven, paradise, and all things wondrous. Her lips are mine to taste, no one else just I, and though she has flitted in and out of other’s dreams, it is here in the sweetly maddening dreams of mine that she returns, coming back to the one who first adored her from nothing, who loved her ‘fore he knew her, who waits beyond the doors of his imagination for her to come to him. 
   Her mouth whispers his name, and it’s mine, her kisses lain wantonly upon me, tongues dancing across each other, hungry and desperate as if this is the last dream we’ll have. And in the swirling of cloth that seems to just fade away at my touch, we are both naked and exposed, all our imperfections, all our frailties, explored just as lovingly as if we were the perfect Gods and Goddesses of old. 
   I love everything about her, her delirious scent, reminiscent of jasmine and lavender; her touch that while confident still trembles in anticipation of me touching her; her lightly painted lips, moist and waiting for my mouth to cover her own; her skin, once white now tanned by her pale lover the sun; her dreamy eyes caught somewhere between the seas and storms; her long tresses changing from raven to red, canary to chestnut… 
   

Paul D Aronson.

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