Saturday, 4 April 2009

Bedroom hair, sleepy eyes. A sweep of blue smudged from last night like hazy sky over each eyelid, and a dark dark fringe.
Half Nefertiti, half waif, all his.
His palm clasped around the top of her arm, her cheek resting on the hollow at the centre of his chest. Each breathing in and out, in and out, like the rise and fall of an ocean, like the swell of a bud about to burst into bloom.

In the sliver between a dream and some half-formed desire, just behind my closed eyes this morning, I dreamt of us like this.

In my dreams of us there is always honey coloured light and smudges of the deepest blues.
All through the waking day I looked at you, and this evening, in the park at sundown, there it was again; the honey light sweeping across your cheekbones with all the glory of a high wind and smugdes of blue all around you like an aura, diffused by the bare branches and clouds.

And for a split second I didn't know if I was still dreaming, or if it really was a dream at all.

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