I dreamed of the weight of your hand on my hip and a labyrinth of silences tenderly landscaped by harsh words and solitary sentences

i dreamed of the salt of your flesh on my tongue and of kharma and tao as portrayed in the subtle way the moon controls the tides

I’ve been a peony in flight under branches and under waves, but I’m thankful for the soft landing in your sacred hollow

i’ve been a bear with a toothache terrorizing the townsfolk, but the feeling fades away as soon as your glow softens the shadows

Dry your eyes, take my hand and let’s find a place to bury the silent odes we’ve shared and cover them with soft moans grave dirt

they will erect monuments to our sullen, to our soft, enough that long after the truth is lost, our lips will never part into perpetuity

As an existential ‘dreamer’ I always wonder if my next decision is the death sentence for someone or myself and I won’t ever know it. A thought too terrifying for some mornings but by midday the apathy sets in and I just offer a wry smile on the face of it.