There are times when dreams,
the incorporeal wandering,
detached tumbling sighs,
are forgotten
in an instant.

Faint echoes
coming from nowhere,
quickened breaths
lost to the stars;
a phantom desire.

The haunting surges
molten in the darkness,
From nowhere.
To nowhere.
Yet everywhere;
engorged in desire,
a deluge in one gasp.

And yet it... trembles,
writhes warm in the darkness,
thickness and weight,
dreams glistening in moonlight;
sweet deja vu.

When did the siren song
taste of honey?
Of lips,
of flesh,

And when did fingers tighten,
clasping and grasping,
seizing blindly,
yet finding silky heft?

Do dreams taste of sweat?

Warm, wet, urgent pleadings
Bite marks on your neck
Shuddering desire
Yours in the night.

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