Intimacy

It was morning.

I woke up, folded my sheets, and brushed my teeth.

A weird smile crept across my face as I sat down

my brain flashing snips of the dream I had.

A lovely, yet shy dream.

I could only scream into the pillow

and hide my face in pure embarrassment.

"Why was she in my dream?

She, a friend I don’t consider close, but I do care about.

Why would she be in my dream?!"

I can’t even smile properly.

My shoulders draw in,

and I huddle up with the pillows

as the details flow back into my mind.

It was a dream about intimacy

the kind my soul craves deeply.

Her head rested in my lap,

my fingers wandered through the silk of her hair,

not rushed, not needing anything

just the slow language of care.

Holding her gracefully soft hands,

I leave wet imprints of my lips on them.

Her small stature fits in my arms,

and femininity melts at my touch.

Her head rests on my shoulder with care,

arms wrap onto mine with trust

not hollow, but whole.

The world faded around her.

There were fields.

Flowers.

Her guileless smile,

When she twirled like a whisper of wind in spring,

gaily akin to a butterfly.

Her skirt twirls and sways with her steps,

like water playing around with fishes,

and her hair not far behind.

What a seldom and eesome sight it is.

Am I romanticising it a little?

Maybe.

But how can I not?

Her clement eyes,

her warm presence that heals my heart,

her hands that only know grace

where every moment spent with her feels like kairos.

How can I not?

Oh shoot,

have I fallen for her?

Hmm...

No.

It’s the idea of her that made me jolly

the warmth of what I wish could be real.

A.V