When I Dream

My mind still travels to you at night. I think of where you are, who you’re next to, what the oils and sweat of your sheets smell like. I wonder if my head and body could slide over to the space yours made in the morning, fall back asleep soothed by the shape of you cradling me.. i think about your faggy walk, the one that swings between boy and man, hustle and flow, light but also purposeful in that weighted way you are.

There’s color here, ivy tangles of you that I want wrapped around me so my veins come to the surface, blue under my flesh but red and traveling with that rhythm of wildness, scarcity, allure; all of it just like you.

I breathe slower through my thoughts, keep my eyelids shut while I landscape a dream of your voice traveling down the vertebrae of my hunger. I bend to where you are in a room, a hallway, an alley, a shadowed basement loud with the silhouette of you, waiting for me.

Something in me just knows you because you see my ache and stretch it out well, you swim in it and step on it with your heel, scuff it up with the stubble on your cheek. Sometimes we leave the heat of August behind, sometimes the friction of your eyes flashing at mine stokes cinders between my thighs.

We sway. We melt. I bend into your hips like a dandelion wisp waiting for a gust of wind to fly. I listen to your voice, the husk at the back of your throat that stalks me until I touch myself, writhing like a current that can’t settle.

I wish you could watch my dreams tonight, the cinema of longing that runs below my eyelids, the ache that flatters you from every angle and takes the pieces I know, presses my lips tight on the stained glass of your mouth.

I like that this is cutting, I like that it feels like bleeding from the outside. I like thinking that your knuckles could bend inside and carve some truth in my walls.

Tonight I am dreaming about tying your boots, a scrape of knots still vibrating between my fingers and the tangle in my hair made thick from your fist. I think about the squeeze of your knees against my hips, the smother of your cunt over my face and wearing your pleasure like a mask.

I think about the deep groans you make that come from the root of you, your stomach and that trail of hair my tongue wants to hike down like a waterfall. I think about the vice of your teeth twisting my nipples, the rise and fall of my skin a broken metronome that lost the rhythm of seconds.

My bones throw pennies in a well, wish for memories where they knew the devotion of your floor, sitting in your shadow, light breaking through the more I let go.

When you see me, I feel like a forest, a tunnel that’s heard its first howl, a choir of bells that lifts up a ceiling.

When I take you in my mouth, I want you to pull the prayers from my throat and make me your hymnal.