The Dream

People would probably laugh
If they were ever told
Since I am proudly opinionated
And independent
And my response to most authority figures
Is a raised eyebrow and a look of
'Who put you in charge?'
It's not that these parts of me aren't real,
But they're blown out of proportion
To make a shield around my vulnerable
Little
Self.

At night,
When it starts to get cold and the fog of overwhelm from all my work has kicked in,
When all my friends are off doing something else,
When the appeal of browsing random internet things has evaporated
And my favorite books cannot catch my focus,
The Dream will start to haunt my body with tingles and shivers,

A strange sort of pleasant fever.
I push it away,
Only for it to strengthen
Feeling the soft desire wrapping around me
One moment like bonds and the next like a gentle embrace
In, I suppose, a moment of leaping free of responsibility
I imagine that a phantom lover is tracking me down.

Higher, higher,
I toss restlessly in my bed
Sick and weak with longing
I try making myself think of unrelated things,
Like how confusing the stock market is
Or the inner workings of a hurricane

And it helps a little.
I turn away from this darkness to a pure sleep -

My phantom Lover has different ideas.
The Dream becomes more vivid and detailed
Making my tiny form shake and flush and wet
For one who isn't there
I lie as if pinned down and moan softly

Surrendering at last.
My imagined lover takes all of me
And I am nothing but a instrument
And simultaneously the most precious thing he has.
The pleasure drowns me
Making me writhe and whimper until my body and mind align in giving

And in a burst of light I come
Shaking against my hand
Crying out into nothingness.

The spell breaks.
I turn away
Angry that I touched the swampy part of my mind again.
I need some cold water and lots of work.
Until the next night...