how odd, your invasion into a space reserved for strangers. what brought you there, upon that hill where the blue wind gleaned our skin breathless. restless, it was the red balloons that seemed to stick within this memory cap. that, and a declaration – you must turn back. dust waited to be made.
i swore two days ago i’d write this before images had become sepia grained. when you drifted again yesterday, no longer apparition, but flesh. i question, did you feel it. it made me ache.
insides turned outside, the answer resided in never. a north breeze blew, you moved wild under pressured vortex. i stopped your fingers quick. the nape always too intimate. denial is stranger in sleep. we long to touch here, no different from there.
this body burns remembering words anointed upon me. sitting there, watching you in another state, i realized no one had really said anything. it was a space of nothing filled with possibilities.
who sent you into that dream that haunts me awake.
winds shifted today. blowing hard from the north. a midnight train whistle moans her approach.
in the dream, did your balloon ever pop?
mine did -
after sensing her golden light in the valley. urge died with shame. it was her, your wife,