He undressed her in his mind;
he could not feel or touch or see. And so the
ember turned into a flame. Little did he
realize that she had sensed, in increments,
this great undoing. At night, alone in bed, his
fantasy would lead him into ecstasy and her;
even as she turned within her sleep – pure moan
extending out in time and space; and so she
dreamt then, of a faceless male form that
somehow haunted her in particles of flesh.
A commingling was begun, one
and spirit, born of flesh and sensuality,
minus all the love of great emotion;
just at the veil between those realms
invisible to mortal eyes was rent. At first, she
felt no more than his desire, oh so real; and yet as
time moved on, his imaging was solidly improved.
She’d wake then, perspiration beading moistly
on her skin, only aware that in a state of sleep
(was it really just a dream?), some faceless form,
as yet unknown to her and thus unnamed, had
reached to touch her there; just where
all intimacy came and went through her.
In time, a memory – a glance
askance at work
within the course of one more day of boredom –
arose within her mind, for she had glimpsed his
glassy glare, staring as if in a trance, at the pure
essence of her femininity. He seemed utterly
engrossed just then, within a world that seemed
so much his own, and yet she felt a heat, too real
to be imaginary – unquestioned answer to her
silent questions of the nights, almost as if a
gendered moon decided to come full again in her.
She took note then, of those
little things – how,
for instance, when a tingle ran so quickly up
her spine, lodging in heat that beat too quickly
to the base of all she thought, she’d turn and
see him standing only yards away from her
and down the hall, his eyes too suddenly averted
to an elsewhere as she turned to this discovery,
of sleepless dreams that kept her from her rest.
And she began to watch him
too, in moments
when his focus was engrossed in something
other than herself. Until one night, that shadow
of a body in her dreams became a face, and
this truly was, o’er time, in space, her saving grace;
for awareness conquers every state
of blind unknowingness.
What he thought to be seduction
no more than his destruction, as a whirling wind
enraptured him and brought a killing blow
to bare and bear the many truths of his own soul,
now spoken in a breath a windy dreams,
returned to him within those many schemes
of dark and night that ran too wild,
like stallions o’er the plane of his imagining...
? Michaelette ?
Copyright© 2001 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
Take me home...