The astral fields beckon when day
is done, and the beast within is put
to rest. A new life begins that lifts
us up and sets us free to roam the
starry fields of dream time where all
things are possible and we can
have anything we desire while we
recline upon our fleeting pillows.
The unicorn is ours with flurried
wings spread against the night time
sky, and so is the lover we all crave
somewhere deep within our secret
souls. Perhaps, we shall go riding,
my lover and I upon the strong back
of that winged stallion who awaits
our slightest whim. "Wouldest thou
care to visit the Spiral Nebulae, my
dearest?"
We'll pack a picnic lunch of bread,
wine and mellow cheese to take
along to that long forbidden marge
where, with no one watching, we
can well spread our red, checkered
table cloth across the Seventh
Moon of Nod. Then, in due course,
we'll drink a toast from chill crystal
glasses that sparkle in the starlight
as we recline at our feast, forsaking
an onion to taste a lush nipple
offered in the pale moonlight.
Silken lips of dreams caress our
souls as our hungry spirits seek the
fiery tongue that brings a rushing of
hot blood that awakens us to new
horizons of delight in the neverland
of the astral caves, deep, dark and
delicious. We await pleasure with a
quickening heart.
The yearning is over. Our pulses
entwine as we merge our now
single essence that closes the door
against all else. Even the Super
Nova that signals the death knell of
a star that has lived fully and long
does not interrupt our passion as
our hearts strain at their tresses.
The eruption sends out fiery waves
of flaming energy, but we shall not
mourn its passing, but instead
absorb its energy and make it our
own.
Life transists into death that in turn
creates life anew, as we channel
that ancient energy into a new life
that nestles in the arms of love,
seeking comfort and warmth
against the astral chill and unknown
hungers that tug at one so new.
Sadly, Of fleeting dreams that pass
in the night there are many who do
not come to fruition as they lie on
their singular pillows expanding
dreams that interlock not with the
reality of others that seek the same.
So sad. Sometimes only a hollow
partition separates one from the
bliss of the other and cold, sterile
aloneness entangles them in its
gossamer web that they could so
easily break if they would just stir
and go forth into the night, seeking
their dream lover who waits in the
shadows and wonders where they
have been.
