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?