In Dreams
Another night, just like always,
like lyrics of a well-loved song,
it plays over and over.
Bits and pieces of a painful past toying
with my mind and heartstrings,
leaving me both shaken, yet hopeful.
Reminiscent of a gaping wound
scabbing over, only to break open
again and again, refusing to heal.
I choose to bear the ache of pain
for the pleasure of remembering;
I know him in the dark,
breathe in his pure, clean scent,
caress rough edges, soft textures;
a familiar jumble of warm skin
and beautiful bones.
My fingers stroke the spiky stubble
of beard, the smooth arch of cheekbone,
trace the raised, purplish scar on his neck
compliments of a drunken barfly’s wild aim
with a jagged beer bottle.
I delight in the feel of strong hands
running all over my skin, callused fingertips
strumming my body, making it sing as skillfully
as the beloved guitar strings he plucks
night after night in smoky taverns.
And, dear Lord, those remarkable eyes,
pale green with flecks of gold, flashing dark
emerald at the peak of passion,
a gaze so piercing, even in darkness,
it scorches every inch of me.
A mouth made for pleasure;
persuasive lips claiming mine,
velvety soft, teasing, breathing life
into me, coaxing me to respond,
setting body and soul afire.
Through half-closed eyes I surrender
to the deep intimacy of that kiss,
taste the pungent mingling of both
the sweet and intense, smooth bourbon
with tobacco’s bite.
I allow the essence of the dream
to linger on; it is my safety net,
the only peace I know.
I keep it alive, hold reality
at bay, one more night.
Ghosts and memories remain intact,
tangible, tinged with a just a hint of
regret. Renouncing them could
end the dream, and I can’t
let it go, not yet.
Ancient history, or is it?
