The Night I Dreamt

I dream you in the prettiest way of livings lay as the moonbeam lightned and shiftned their faces and you were even prettier than that. As if anyone could tell how exactly you delighned me with such an enormous touch with those slippy hands where they know around their places, and as your hands make a glimpse of a noises I said. And how everything you did to me makes me feels allright at the moment for no reason.

And I remember how in that dream you lay there with a sack of your eyes with all the universe I see inside those pupils as they look through mine. You lay there on a thin blanket we stole, and you lay there on a land of a man, looking up mimicking the night sky, and introducing your theory of the universe and God and everything in it, and I was just there, sit still.

You makes me feel crazy about everything you are, your hands, then the tips of your finger, then your eyes, then your lips, and then you all at once. They tell me much loves and craving for nothing but eachother intertwined like an ocean misses the sun rise.

I love the scents of you, your hands, even it has no scents but you do have some kind of scents, and your scents, oh, your cologne, I breath them when I snuggle up my face onto your embraces. And at night, whenever you fell asleep, your breath as my lullaby with a cracky sulliva on your throat.

How you gesture to love me every possible night I just live and rest on the palm of your hand as you whispers the lullaby :

“hush, hush, baby, you safe now with me.”

You point a finger and place it as if it fits my cupid’s bow, and by then you gently lined my lips and smoothen them, and I was just there, sit still, watching you. And how then you, do it.

A women I indeed felt like, a woman that night you made me with too many pride and lust for a single lady could ask and do.

The rest, the rest of the dream I wish they won’t be any longer just a dream.

“hush, hush, kinky baby,” he said.