In an evening where the day passed without anything particularly splendid to comment on or make mention about, I leave my would be complacency to go in search of you. You and your leisurely, methodical, calming repose that stills my mind to ease distresses long lost within your presence; your willingness to unravel all the intricate laces of time’s bindings to unnecessary pressures that eliminate pleasures from their rightful places among all the parts of our being alive. Yes, my affectionate ambition, I wait in need of you. For I cannot take the daily drivel of mediocrity’s mayhems to bare such a devil’s burden of stupidity alone; and I am loathed to believe that any such thing would even dare to attempt such a pathetic attempt to entertain me knowing you are the craving that sates all longing in the fluidity of my being.
Why must the conductors of such designated disorder inflate their turmoil into our lives while they care not one iota for the minutes of our lives filled with their idiotic, passionless poisons that forsake the ingenuities of our inner existence in knowing satisfaction is found within the panthenons of our own wantings? What crazed insecurities must they belong to knowing our minds search not for their crisis of attentions but rather, inside our reciprocating aspirations, to be found manifesting ourselves in the rosaries of heartful prayers to separate our minds from their would be attempts in condemning our personal freedoms to wonder lustfully through the minds of our own thinking without their filthy hands staining our rightful minds with their insults of faked intensities. What jealousies they must feel knowing that a joining of such blissful needs would eradicate them from their grips on our lives while you and I would soar to a new height of euphorical elations in celebrations of the new found halcyons of becoming all we are to be to each other.
In an early morning hour where the cat is skittishly playing around the floors with nothing more than a plastic bottle lid; and I am in want of your voice to sooth me away from the nonsense of nothingness, where the soft light of a lamp glows gently across the room and the mood in the room is one of determination to discover you near me and a willingness to linger until your touch has removed the hideous constraints of my waiting, I struggle to release myself from those mindless minutes without you. Heaven’s described eternity seems so slight an occurrence compared to those moments and oh how my soul pines for their endings, so that I might rush into your embrace and once again feel the safe haven of your acceptance and the gleeful loss of their disfigurements. I would, if I could, tell you all the immeasurable desires lain dormant for years behind the calm exterior of my life where all else was colorless, tasteless, pallor and pale, without influence on my breathing soul, what like a child I hid under the dutiful face of bequeathed expectations, the willing hands of others attentions, the mindless meanderings involved in obligations. While the seasons changed to the sounds of complaints from other’s voices about bitter cold, as I in my mind dreamed of kisses softer than snowflakes felt and melting into my lips placed there by the understanding mind of another who too dreamed how first kiss should feel when honestly given. I would not write such things if they were not meant to be wrote. I would not dream to conceive such ideas beyond my own learning if they were not first dreamed. I would be like all others you’ve known and met, ready to condemn the ever ready instances in times spent longing, committing myself to the fornications of living without the love of dreaming those things possible. Life would be a sour wine indeed without the hopeful knowledges shared to me by a starlit night spent outside on a chilly autumn’s evening, listening to the leaves lingering in the trees whisper how wonderful life is when a warm hand reaches for yours to protect it from the cold. And how very much more pleasing it is when the voice of another, to whom the hand belongs, yearns to linger closer to you as long as you will have them near you to listen to the night’s breezes passing. Doing nothing more than gazing silently into the heavens above for a glimpse into the eternities above us. Imagining, as we stand there, all the ideas before us that can be if we will them to become our lives. What miraculously seductive thoughts could grow knowing exploration of life is accepted beyond the prisons of minds left uneducated by emotional santifications freed from rejections, anger, and despairs perpetrated upon the soul’s imagination for fulfillment! In the nearly endless minutes of my waiting I realize that no one would know these longings if they had not first needed the presence of such things to prevent the destruction of their imaginative minds from the soulless hedonistic prescriptions that sought to destroy them from belonging to such a truth.
Our thoughts then would belong to the magnanimous shufflings of the fantastic thoughtlessness. The internet of emotional sinkholes, an information highway of disasters blistering humanity from decent reprieve; comparing lives to kayaking in desert sands where the sun never sets and the cool of evening’s starry night has forsaken the living, and left them crawling naked through beaches of billions of sewing needles riddled with glass shards, kissing corpses, dancing with rotting carcasses while being served their bodily excrements. God forbid! May the world be hurled into the face of the sun to be removed from the histories of all eternities before the prowess of such revolting rebellions occur inside the lives we now live.
In my heart of hearts and from every fiber of my being I pray such a mind to never replace the fascination of dreaming of you my love! Of being held in the arms within your breathing soul who wants nothing more than to be the person wrapping me gently around your body, caressing the world around us away to the great oblivion of forgetfulness, where no mention of such atrocity could ever possibly exist and we are inherently overindulged in the sanctity belonging to all those who persistently open their lives to the ideas of tenderness and gentleness accepting us as we are into the life giving streams, flowing ever after into each other’s presence. As I dream of you, I realize my dreams of us are mine to give to you as if they were your soul’s desires. So that you may know the simplicity belonging to such immeasurable wantonness in fulfilling my own longings within you; and that you will feel the cool refreshings of my attentions in watering the gardens of your life. Never to impede your own dreams that I wish to water daily to keep alive and well nourished among the hands of time to bloom into lush, moist yearnings to heal your mind and body. But fortifying you from the parched, scorching bombardments that careless whispers and violent discriminations pour across your dreamscapes in hopes of exterminating such beautiful thoughts from flowering into your presence.
While I wait in my inner calm to dream of you, my love, I want only to bathe your mind in remembrance with softened gentility and restore your faith in the touch of my hands. Where the words that appear before your eyes remind you always that to love dreaming is to love the most intimate you; and to love you is the most intimate of my dreaming.
