wystswolf

The energy of passion drips out in viscous dreams.

I feel urgent
A pressure to explore
The tro-tros are all full
Black boys wave me off
Saying, “sorry, abruni”

A big thick horn
Vibrated the ground,
“COOOOMMMMMAAAAHHH
BOOOOOOAAAAAATAAAAHH!”
It says.

The black tro-tro doorman
Gives me a thumbs up
“Boats are better. For the motion.”

I walk through city forever
The stone path starts to wear
Thin from the pressure of
So many steps.

The ‘boats’ are massive faces bobbing in
The water, people sprawled
Languidly over cheeks
On foreheads, in the hollow
Where tears gather
Before spilling

I can't get through the door though.
It is big and red and has brass knobs
But turn as I might,
The monoliths don't budge.

A woman appears.
Deep, dark eyes.
High cheekbones flushed with rose.
Lips curved like a Stradivarius—
tuned for mischief.
Beautiful without asking permission.

“They are locked,” She says
“You must be hungry. You need soup.”

We go from restaurant to
Restaurant all glowing
Golden in the night like gems.
Each one we enter says the same thing:
'No Soup!'

The last door enters a living room.
Ultramodern and angled, everything in white.
Wherever I step, I leave mud stains.
I am extremely embarrassed,
But she just laughs and rolls piercing eyes.
She lays me down on the couch.

A bowl materializes and she says,
'Eat.' And tips the bowl to my lips.
I sip it down, but the bowl never empties.
It pours and pours but I never get full.
She laces her fingers through my hair
And Massages my scalp, it's very very pleasant.
I feel incredibly relaxed and soothed.

The room turns from cold white stone
To soft yellow and pink woods.
Something pulses and vibrates slow and steady.
Suddenly a bell rings, it is the same bell
They used to ring when I was in high school.
“Oh, I'm sorry you have to leave.” She says
And invites me to the door.
When I approach, it is a giant steak.
Pressing it, my hands sink into the surface
And then I fall through.

The loss of my balance wakes me and
I find I'm grasping for someone who isn't there.

Drifting back to slumber after rousing,
I discover myself in a city of lights and rivers. I am a giant climbing the Eiffel Tower. The police come and explain that it isn't permitted and that I must come down. Rather than acquiesce, I call for a ride and a giant purple bear comes running in to snatch me up. They yell stop! But my attention is already in the cotton candy clouds. No time for distraction.

The bear takes flight into the clouds and lowers me on a spiders strand into a thick pool. I fall in slowly, like the water is welcoming with a hug. Under the surface everything is sensual and the liquid seeps into me until I become part of the world. I hear a voice calling me, but i cannot see the speaker.

The lights go down and I am lost in her forever.

I wake thick and warm, the hum of feeling still in my skin. The dream time was slow—devotional. The kind of passion that takes its time because there is no need to rush a good thing—It left me with the afterimage of being wanted without apology.

It was a hunger and restraint—not reckless—with intentional consideration. Want and ache that anticipated her discovery, her smile when she finds the evidence and asks, quietly, did you mean for me to see this?

Everything moved at the pace of breath. Of listening. Of hands learning through without asking. It wasn’t urgency that drove it, but confidence—the certainty that nothing needed to be rushed because nothing was in danger of disappearing.

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Thank you for coming here and walking through the garden of my mind. No day is as brilliant in its moment as it is gilded in memory. Embrace your experience and relish gorgeous recollection.

Into every life a little light will shine. Thank you for being my luminance in whatever capacity you may. Shine on, you brilliant souls!

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