Curl haired dream woman

There is someone I’d like to be kissing right now. Holding right now. I want her to sit on my lap and snuggle up against me. To tell me about her day, while I massage her back. I want all the things I always want. The small intimacies and the large. I want misunderstandings and corrections. I want to stop describing what I want and hear and act on what you want.

I guess I’m just feeling lonely. But that doesn’t make my desire less true.

Even in my dreams 

I dreamed last night about a woman with dark hair. A bit curly. with dark eyes that smouldered. She had curves and valleys. She was looking for something and found me. I don’t believe that I was what she was looking for. We ended up in my bed. King size, cream colored silk sheets. With a 4 point suspension rig. Kissing her was like kissing a waterfall. Tentative, just the edge then power and passion that nearly wipes you away until you are standing in the middle, fierce joy and need, a fire burning. Our clothes disappeared and we stood with our imperfections baired. We fell on each other like starving wolves. Tongues and nails. Teeth and flesh. The first orgasm was a thing of abandon and need. Something that tore out of us to beat heavy on the warming air. We slowed long enough to hear her desire to fuck me with a strap on. Flash to me face down in the cooling sheet while she pounds into my ass with a fuschia dildo. It was glorious. Pain and pleasure and the thought of the beautiful woman wanting this. Flash to us spent on the bed.

I look quizzically at the suspension rig and she nods eagerly. She likes pain and being out of control, sometimes, then. I lock her in and suspend her. Black leather caressing and spreading her. Exposing her to me. Vulnerable. Safe. I take her. Edge her to orgasm then pull back. Until she’s writhing with need then push her over the edge. Again and again, until she is limp and spent. Her body shuddering in aftershocks. We are sweating and the air smells of sweat and other things. I get a towl. Soft. I clean her and myself off. She is falling asleep. I snuggle down next to her and sleep.

I wake some time later. She is gone. I rush out in a robe and find her walking home. I say, “Stay. You can stay. Have breakfast with me. Have lunch. Stay.”

She says, “I have to go. I’m looking for my daughter. I think I met you at the wrong time. We could have been something.”

I say, “Find her, then come back to me. You are safe here. Always.”

She just looks away.

I say, “There is no right moment, no perfect time. There is only this moment. This time.”

Then I woke up.


Should I love less
Now as winter creeps on
Than I had in spring
When full and fresh
Blossoming in the warm
Languid air

Should I love less
As the sky grows colder
The clouds heavier
As winter spreads her wings
Snow blankets the ground
Bitter breathe freezing

Should I love less
When dawn bursts forth
Consuming darkness in a
Wave of heat

Should I love less
When day concedes to night
And all before is laid low
By shadows

Should I love less
Should I dance less
Should I burn less
Should I be less

Or take up the mantle
And become
Both less and more
Dichotomous Angel
Brought message blazed out
Sanity and rage
Emptiness and Glut
Given form, given choice, given life

A fevere dream of hope.