Tuesday, 13 November 2012


He knows well the curve of her back, the smell of her hair.
She misses his arms, one under her neck, one cradling her waist, if they're not present.
Breathing slows, mumbling ceases, and they slip into dreams where they can run.
Run with the deer, soar with the falcons, and glide with the otters.

In dreaming, they understand how to live. Everything is easy, easy as breathing.
No decisions, no choices, and no parting, they can explore their own world together.
By the giggling stream they can chase the ripples, in the sun-drenched field they can spy the clouds.
In the rain they can dance, and in the storms they can race.

Upon waking, nothing is as clear.
The swirl of responsibilities pushes and pulls them, the currents allowing brief glimpses,
But never the freedom they had by the brook.
Exhaustion draws near, happiness is tattered, tempers flare.

But their worldly troubles can be pushed aside for a day here, an evening there,
So that they can return for a spell to the place they were free.

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