(Almost) Dreaming

Dreams: like an unstoppable fire, or a field of dead dogs. Rotting cabbages, peeled potatoes. Like a basement, dark, with no where left to hide. Like a locked door or a closed fist. Dreams, like a movie I can’t turn off — that keeps showing the same scene again and again, changing the actors, calling it new. These marshy bogs. These untended corners where weeds come to push through the dirt. Dreams, like flying, like I’m a sparrow, like I know if my arms stop for one single second, I’ll fall. Dreams, like a moment of beauty I know I cannot hold onto, always woven through with something terrible so I don’t even want to try. This bed of mine is a battleground for darker things. I wake up surprised there’s not blood. And sometimes, when I dream of kissing you, I’m surprised there is; it lingers inside my mouth, copper mixing with longing, staining my teeth summer-sweet and almost sorry.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: