This dream fills me
with your presence. My hands, not choking but holding you up high. It is an
intimate strain, igniting a human-to-human gut trust. There are overwhelming gestures
of anguish all about. You, an enraged sensuality, are dangling down, squeezing
the truth out of my gripping you under your shoulders. Me, deaf to your essence,
dripping with an ingnited charge, coming through my silent crying out, howliing
to the heavens. The beauty of this blurred confusion slaps me around with your dangling
hands. My body awakens to the flailing of your feminine touch. Refocusing my
eyes on your complete composure against my firey sky, I am startled to realize
the lock of my grip at the top of my frozen numb stance. My eyes to your eyes confuses
me. My sense of this towering of us confounds me. This strong-with-feeling, not
knowing how to claim it from within me. Maybe I am whiffs of madness with no intended
embrace. Possibly possessed with undeliverable reasons to my hands clutching
you. This circumstance betrays where my confusion is sent in a attempt to honor
you. Yet deep from within your eyes, this-recognizing-me is folded in lightning,
uncontrollably comforting me from my view looking up at you. This heartening is
sustained long after your flash of serenity and visual bolt have annointed my blind
actions. Gratefully I wear this robe of confusion, stained with tears of a
deeper letting go. Your fired transmission furies me into your future version
of me. I have unsharable sights and sighs,
yet unceasing separation from this present pain. These lessons are mine by your
presence here as beheld. My bittersweet lets free, releases you. My hands free you
for me to grasp your spirit from a deeper light, to draw from where we are one
that I did not know to be so until in my evocative dream, I was this strong
with feeling . . .
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