Last night I dreamt we were lovers. You ran your hands through my hair and I kissed the nape of your neck. We lay in the grass in a desolate field, holding hands. Hidden, naive and spontaneous. I blew dandelions and you pointed out camels in the clouds. I would follow your finger and try to see as you did, the camels closer to deer in my mind. But it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. We had stopped time, shaken the hourglass and left it on its side. We were young, unrestrained and in love. We were as vacant as the air, as lucid as the sun above our eyes and as fluid as the stream that flowed beside us.

I wore a sundress that trailed along the arid earth, the rim of alice blue becoming as dark as my bare feet. You wore khaki shorts and a light Indian tunic. You hummed me a melody that I recalled from memory and you told my feet to move. You held my waist and we traveled  in unison, our eyes closed, the ground offering itself to the dance, the wandering water initiating a harmony. You drew me close and kissed my lips, the dust settled, the brook hushed.

There was a purpose, a reason, a meaning for it all. You held out your hand as we jumped from each stepping stone further down the creek. As we reached the horizon I could sense the thinness of reality seeping through the sunbeams. I held you tighter, looked deeper, loved stronger, but it would not keep you. The less you were, the more conscious I was and as you disappeared into the soft-blowing breeze my eyes opened, cursing the sunlight that passed between my curtains, ushering out a reverie, a fancy, an escape.

I fantasize the possibility of five minutes more. Good night.

dandelion