When I awoke you were still there, still you.

What parts of dreams are reality, all? in a twisting seemingly endless unsubstantiated drama unfolding as a spiral staircase that ends on itself and begins again going neither up nor down though you look hard and reach for direction.

Why scenes from my waking life, alive and walking like wolves prowling the night their eyes gleam and only their lack of shadows to tell me this aint real, this dream aint real.
I know it aint real, it feels like bubble gum.

I pre-empt you. Everything you say I feel coming in micro waves. Microcosmic blueprints of you projected onto me. Even as I unfold myself to show you my inner wolves and elves and wings, you are winding into this me of the now, becoming stuck in me now, like stripes in candy cane.
I think THIS is real. It feels like bubble gum.
We chew it up and spit it back and forth. Feeding each other like ravenous birds.
Having starved on fools gold, now taking our fill of hot stew.
So real. So real. So real. Like earth.
Cement it with a name. But care not to stifle this fragile dream with too much hope.

How much of my insecurity is my dreaming life built on. no, rather, how much of my dreaming life is the shake off of my insecurities. A great and heavy cloak made of the feathers of so many thousands of birds and the battered skins of creatures long extinct, with bloodshot arms I lift if off my back and toss it and the winds pull shards of me. The night takes hold of me. The dreams give drugs to my largest, darkest fears.

what is infidelity but a departure. A disconnection from the lock down we've been living in.
Head to head. mind to mind. hip to hip. mouth to mouth.
This dream that we are one.
An infidelity just admitting we can never be. Except for one saving grace,
we can choose to play fair and not to never hurt, abandon, or accident upon each other
but just to never cheat.

I lie in your dust. you future spurns out away from you and mine from me like ribbons in a deaf gale. gust of ribbons. The guts of ribbons. Spools of ribbons. Care for we are spilling bolts of cloth.


I lie here in your present. you in mine. what part of the dream is this? the finale? The end of The Great Romantic Nightmares, or the portal to the newest, ingratiating Dream.
We stand in a doorway continuing to breathe as from under cloaks our dreams come true.