Tuesdays...
8/26/03 03:03 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
alasanon... can come quietly, but gnash their little teeth as though they are preparing for revolt.
I want pure silence, so that I can think clearly about the nothing-things that need-don't-need to be happening. There has been too much silence that theoretically means something, despite the fact that the silence is so usual it should seem like an old friend dropping in for tea.
Ah, there you are! I thought you weren't coming, but then I heard your shoes tapping on up the walk. Sit down, have a crumpet. Oh, sweetheart, it's just been too long! How's things been? Your bank account still as untidy as your parlor? Oh, lovely to hear! Now just sit down for a moment--it's been so long that I just feel like looking at you, because I can't quite believe you're really here...
To top this one off, I'm going through the vaults for a very old poem (some two or three years, I think. 1999? 2000?). I promised someone I'd read it a long while back, and then couldn't find it. But now I have, so here you are.
Little Dreams
Lying in the still warm room, dreams racing past my head
a thousand possibilities, a million potentials
Wasted in my head, but still alive, floating
memories that never happened
his kisses still warm on the back of my neck
but he never gave them to me, and may never, in this world.
In that one, perhaps, they linger still
warm on my throat and fingers
softly drifting in a cloud of illusion
I have grown to hate waking
because though those dream kisses are never as real
as the ones I receive in this world
they are never as painful
and rarely as fleeting
I want pure silence, so that I can think clearly about the nothing-things that need-don't-need to be happening. There has been too much silence that theoretically means something, despite the fact that the silence is so usual it should seem like an old friend dropping in for tea.
Ah, there you are! I thought you weren't coming, but then I heard your shoes tapping on up the walk. Sit down, have a crumpet. Oh, sweetheart, it's just been too long! How's things been? Your bank account still as untidy as your parlor? Oh, lovely to hear! Now just sit down for a moment--it's been so long that I just feel like looking at you, because I can't quite believe you're really here...
To top this one off, I'm going through the vaults for a very old poem (some two or three years, I think. 1999? 2000?). I promised someone I'd read it a long while back, and then couldn't find it. But now I have, so here you are.
Little Dreams
Lying in the still warm room, dreams racing past my head
a thousand possibilities, a million potentials
Wasted in my head, but still alive, floating
memories that never happened
his kisses still warm on the back of my neck
but he never gave them to me, and may never, in this world.
In that one, perhaps, they linger still
warm on my throat and fingers
softly drifting in a cloud of illusion
I have grown to hate waking
because though those dream kisses are never as real
as the ones I receive in this world
they are never as painful
and rarely as fleeting
