The Dream

       The Dreaming comes into sharp focus with a kiss:  soft,warm, with the faintest hint of citrus.Two lovers, bodies entwined,  whispering promises of things to come,  things that might yet be. They Struggle against each other,  both trying in vain to overcome the distance between them, the struggle against time, knowing they have so little of it; life is filled with so many struggles, and this is the sweetest one.

      The second kiss builds upon the first, slowly lifting their hopes, the background of the dreaming fades;  only the lovers are in focus. Sun-kissed skin soon meets skin untouched by Sol's loving rays.The sweat of the two lovers intermingled creates ambrosia;  never has anything tasted so sweet;  never have they crossed this Rubicon .

    Countless kisses soon follow; they increase in frequency, each growing  in intensity. Soft moans echo across the Dreaming for what seems  an eternity...  She gasps....  the very foundation of the Dreaming shakes,  almost falling into the waking world. His embrace  steadies her, pulling her close, and  their eyes meet: his the blue green of the ocean, and  hers a golden brown.  With this meeting they know... they know that together they could be more ......they know that this may be a dream ..... and dreams are not real.

Statement

I told her that I loved her...a simple, but immense statement, and in half a whisper she asked a simple but infinitely complex question. "What does that mean? In shock I answered that I have never been asked such a question. "The few times I have said such a thing, it was a drunken moment or a solemn vow  quickly reciprocated, but never questioned .... I started to speak without thought. Have I not read about love from all of the great thinkers? How could I not have an answer for such a simple question? It battles in our burning agricultures, her sword hidden in her pinions may wound you,  and it is a gift of the divine,  or so I have been told by wiser men than myself. When my voice gave her other men's answers she remained unconvinced.  I looked into her soft  eyes, somehow more gold than brown now, unsure of what to say. She spoke,  her voice pure like the first drop of rain during a summer storm, and  her words still echo in my mind: "love is what we make of it.  It can be all things to all people. I asked, when you say you love me..." I silenced her with a gentle embrace: simple words for a complex question.   "I know not what love means. " She pulls me closer to her -  I taste her lips on mine.  The touch clears the tempest of my mind and slows the thunder of my heart.  She whispers that I am foolish, and that is enough for now...it is enough for now.

You ask....

Does she dance with me, or do I dance with her? Beauty such as hers, she must be mad  - her eyes are bright suns; sweat glistens on her unmasked face. I dance with her... She dances with me...the rhythm we keep,  is it  my heart? Or is it hers?  They beat as one, or so she whispers.....

In the moment I am with her,  that precious fleeting moment!  The heat!  The passion!  The sound of two hearts beating in  unison overwhelms me!  I withdraw into the dark behind my mask; i hide from her .... for reasons unknown. She is as the sun; her light is bright and pure. Never has this light touched my face,  shielded as I am by the many masks I have forged in life.

She wears no masks...perhaps the were stolen? Broken? In all likelihood they were just cast off. The light of life shines on her face in a way that it has never shown on mine. She calls me back into that moment. Her eyes call to mine...with her I cast off my mask, perhaps foolishly, perhaps not. There is no time for thought under the bright sun of emotion; no time for thought during the dance of the mad......