His Dreams

I know him well and yet not at all. Ten long years ago we met and I relished every moment with him from there after. We have never spoken a word, but shared volumes with our thoughts of nothing and everything at once. I know his energy, his presence, he haunts my waking world, but never do I see him. An old song reminds me of him, a slight hint of sage in a quiet room invokes intangible memories in my mind, but never have I seen his flesh.

Yet, when we do meet, I can hide nothing from him, nor do I care to keep anything from him. He reveals to me his secrets and desires with a grace and an ease that leaves me in awe. A rapturous love so innocent, it feels as if it should be a sin.

Simplicity…

My eyes have never met his until….

I lay there, his hands stroking my hair, our bodies intertwined. He glows, I thought to myself: a brilliant, silvery luster around his yellow-gold tresses and fair, satin skin. Even his blue eyes shine with a depth and radiance that I think man was not made to know. His brilliance surrounds my being, my soul. I am safe. I am at peace. I just am… in his arms… If Death were to wield his scythe and gore my flesh, I’d not be aware of my plight, nor would I feel the wrenching pain of a slow, agonizing death. I would not flinch. I’m here, in this moment of existence and nowhere else. Bliss…