He has been haunting my dreams. This man in my dreams is the man of dreams, of my dreams.
I know his eyes, his mouth, his hair. I know that soft spot on his neck. I know his scent, his laugh, his kiss. I know his intimate caress.
Somehow I also know his name, even though we have never met.
I know him in moments and flashes and through my vivid dream-fuelled senses. I know him only in fragments. When I try to piece him together he is elusive, fading, disappearing, defying recollection.
But in dreams, in dreams, he comes together again for me, with me. He comes together and strokes my cheek and reads my words and loves me as no other man has ever dared.
“Dreams are true while they last, and do we not live in dreams?” — Alfred Lord Tennyson
“Dreams surely are difficult, confusing, and not everything in them is brought to pass for mankind. For fleeting dreams have two gates: one is fashioned of horn and one of ivory. Those which pass through the one of sawn ivory are deceptive, bringing tidings which come to nought, but those which issue from the one of polished horn bring true results when a mortal sees them.” — Homer
Here's hoping that your dreams are horny dreams. In all the ways that can be meant. This was just beautiful.
— PB
To dream, to dream, surely there is no better past time. OK, there might one that surpasses it! 😉
Thank you for the lovely words and wishes PB…