My Porcelain queen
I had a dream.
I was you. There was rain on the window.
It was night and the thunder was distant.
Your hair brushed your cheek.
“Where could a breeze come from in here?” You think.
“How did I get so busy? How did life get so complicated?”
“How long can you keep my voice silent?”*I offer.
“Shhhhh dammit.”*You say with your most vixen voice.
Then you, (I) stand and our weight is felt on the floor.
This is not right you think to yourself.
You (I) turn our palms upward and stare at them.
If you will notice this is where dreams come apart.
As clever as the Id is. The dream mind that plots and pulls our strings.
We are adept at unraveling the webs.*
When something makes no sense it unravels. Even if we plead
for it's salvation.
Like a wisp it is gone.
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