Bouquet of dreams

November 14, 2018

Last night I had a bouquet of dreams. In one of them was a kiss. A kiss so real I can still feel it. It’s with me like a dream hangover. This kiss… It felt like home, like the peach light of clouds, like forgiveness and aging backwards, like a word in the dictionary - true. Like a library book and a hymn in the distance, like the neck of a swan, the pursed pudgy foot of a baby, like honey in a cup, like a sunset across a field of wheat - orange light haloing every tip of grain, like when the rain stops and the pavement glistens and the sky seems closer and brighter than before, like deja vu twice in a row, like a canoe gliding through glassy water, like the moon reflected on the ocean when you think you could swim to it, like Calvino’s milk, like Modern English’s melt, like taking off a costume, like standing barefoot in a puddle, like holding a bird, like yellow leaves on Prytania St, like a slate wiped clean… Like a good good dream.