With lips lit

I dreamed of an expertise gone in manoeuvring, on rainy days, closed defences, dripping almost rivers on the shoes aimed at the estuary of the entrance, bags replete with those needs that were emptied with unconscious consciousness, like duties whose names have been forgotten, item by item lifted from the shelf without looking at expiration dates, because they landed at the bottom of recurrent dates long expired, and keys – pending and oscillating, almost boats, at the entrance to the estuary.

Between dreaming and awakening, I saw lucid, mechanical faces arranging smiles and kisses upon deliberately inscrutable and serious faces with lips unlit, I fingered routes of blindness through imagined desires finding their way, like treasure islands truly seen, to my touch – and I heard, strident to the point of deafening me, the lie in my silences, avidly broadcast as an absolute truth by the dumb echoes of thousands of voices, at a distance as close as a present absence.

And I awoke, on a sunny day, as openly naked as one who has hardly been born and thus with no defences – my feet, bare of known trails, suspended between air and ground, in that fascinated hesitation of one who holds her breath before taking the first step, my eyelids widening, before the eyes still sitting on the shore with the last remnants of sleepiness, the vision of a bed gradually drained of needs, and, by the source of the exit, an attainable fulfilment – like an ocean, of which, in conscious unconsciousness, one knows the name. One name – unmistakable, in the echo of my voice in another voice, unmistakably calling my name in its echo.

I rose and walked, my lips lit – and my face, my fingers, found the face, the fingers, real, of a desire seeking my own. Openly, also naked, thus with no defences, and with lips lit.

© 2007 Alexandra* ~ OneLight*®