In a dream, I was riding down Highway 101, beneath a full and silver moon. She was behind me, and beneath me, our dreadlocks tangled like black snakes fighting, or dancing, or... kissing.
Her hands were around my waist, my throat, and elsewhere, everywhere, all at once.
But that is the middle of the dream, and to knoe the logic of the dream we must start at the beginning, which began at the end of the day.
At the end of that day, we had stood on a Monterey beach, watching half a hundred bonfires burn down to embers and ashes at sunset. And after the moon rose like a cold silver coin obove the black ocean of that November night we we wove our hearts together with old, sweet lies, my lover and I. She told me that She would always love me, and I told her I would be hers forever. That night, I swore an oath to follow her wherever her dance would lead us; across oceans, through dust and fire, through Ice and hate and loss. I swore that I would track her forever, until I found the path into her dark and screaming heart. I promised that would follow in her footsteps until I found my way to the storm within, a storm whose winds call out her name.
And after the lies and promises we rode together, as the beast with two backs in both its forms; skin against skin on silver sand, and leather pressing against leather above oli-black asphalt, her arms around me like the limbs of a mating spider in an eternally postponed moment of truth.
We rode forever, She and I. We were bare skin and leather; burning flesh and cold, hard hearts. We pried open our third eyes to the rythym of starving flesh and screaming metal, all the while locking fast the doors to our hearts, swallowing the keys while smiling in each other's faces.
And in my dream, when the morning came (a dozen hours and six hundred miles after we had...) we watched the swollen, burning sun rising over Baja. As it rose, its burning flowed like blood into the surrounding clouds; it unfolded in the sky like a dancer, it became a crysanthemum woven from tongues of burning fire. And in that single moment, for one precious second, the dream became a life I never lived. It folded and faded like the melting sun, in the way that dreams do. My dream twisted into a life woven from golden sand and pelican skulls; a life of sweat and the touch of delicate, trusting tongues and fingers; a life of hope and the feel of burning sand beneath my feet.
And yes; I wore white flannel trousers as I stood upon that beach, Although there were no mermaids singing, neither each to each nor to me.
So I watched the sun rise in silence. And it was like a seeing a gold coin melting in the heat of it's own fire, as I stood alone on am empty beach in Mexico.
She has never been there. She has always been there. She will always be there. Just out of reach.
I have a secret to tell you.
I never dream.
Her hands were around my waist, my throat, and elsewhere, everywhere, all at once.
But that is the middle of the dream, and to knoe the logic of the dream we must start at the beginning, which began at the end of the day.
At the end of that day, we had stood on a Monterey beach, watching half a hundred bonfires burn down to embers and ashes at sunset. And after the moon rose like a cold silver coin obove the black ocean of that November night we we wove our hearts together with old, sweet lies, my lover and I. She told me that She would always love me, and I told her I would be hers forever. That night, I swore an oath to follow her wherever her dance would lead us; across oceans, through dust and fire, through Ice and hate and loss. I swore that I would track her forever, until I found the path into her dark and screaming heart. I promised that would follow in her footsteps until I found my way to the storm within, a storm whose winds call out her name.
And after the lies and promises we rode together, as the beast with two backs in both its forms; skin against skin on silver sand, and leather pressing against leather above oli-black asphalt, her arms around me like the limbs of a mating spider in an eternally postponed moment of truth.
We rode forever, She and I. We were bare skin and leather; burning flesh and cold, hard hearts. We pried open our third eyes to the rythym of starving flesh and screaming metal, all the while locking fast the doors to our hearts, swallowing the keys while smiling in each other's faces.
And in my dream, when the morning came (a dozen hours and six hundred miles after we had...) we watched the swollen, burning sun rising over Baja. As it rose, its burning flowed like blood into the surrounding clouds; it unfolded in the sky like a dancer, it became a crysanthemum woven from tongues of burning fire. And in that single moment, for one precious second, the dream became a life I never lived. It folded and faded like the melting sun, in the way that dreams do. My dream twisted into a life woven from golden sand and pelican skulls; a life of sweat and the touch of delicate, trusting tongues and fingers; a life of hope and the feel of burning sand beneath my feet.
And yes; I wore white flannel trousers as I stood upon that beach, Although there were no mermaids singing, neither each to each nor to me.
So I watched the sun rise in silence. And it was like a seeing a gold coin melting in the heat of it's own fire, as I stood alone on am empty beach in Mexico.
She has never been there. She has always been there. She will always be there. Just out of reach.
I have a secret to tell you.
I never dream.
vivid:
Thanks limpdick. =p
vivid:
Anytime FagHag.