I sleep, and in the interval rise moats of dreamjuice like vaseline raingear for the eyes.
I wake, the call of nature impossible to deny any longer.
I answer the call: step into the pit, grasp the baton of awe... and stand mute before the glory of the symphony she conducts. she booms; I gasp. her cloak of dark grief parts briefly to reveal the light she hides within. insufficient, like a dance made of tease more than strip.
she enthralls me... me, rising to the occasion, understanding now her need for command performance and riveted in full compliance. flicks of her beauty - pink, orange, bluish-white - touch my skin like a benediction.
I ooo in awe
like an auctioneer she bangs her powerful gavel: sold! to the lady naked in the distance!
no refunds, no returns.
and she strips, completely; her light permeating, completely. exposes bare electric veins bulging forth sharply in stark contrast with the murkier parts of her background.
my temple pounds to the beat of her wind-driven cries and finally, I see clearly: she is the princess and I am the pauper. her royalty decrees my loyalty.
and I attend her, like a lady's maid; absorb her tears into mine own eyes until the glue of sleepvision has dissolved and her last brilliant spasms pour into the vessel of my understanding.
like a lover I attend her, soothing the painful aftershocks of her ecstasy until my worship at the feet of her magnificence is redundant. like a princess, she rides off amidst thundering hooves to demand further obeisance from royal subjects in lands far beyond mine, heedless of my own ecstasy barely fulfilled.
and like a teacup, I quake in the aftermath of the tempest held within.
I wonder: will she return?
as if in answer, the bucket of her excess tears tips over, dousing me awake from my love-struck stupor and driving me finally to seek shelter... discarded, but knowing.
she'll be back.