Closing my eyes, I build a life not much resembling
that which is:
an endless wood, leafed in the deep green of love,
the atomic gold of passion.
In a dark recess of that Eden I construct a refuge:
thatched and plastered , well-protected from
that which is not desired.
Inside, under the eaves, I furnish a room:
hung with silk,
lit by the sunset streaming in through west-facing windows
and, later, by stars undimmed by the pollution
of a neon civilization.
In the middle, a bed made up with cool sheets
is adorned with many feather pillows,
and in that bed is you:
hot hungry eyes watching me as I undress,
each garment dropping slowly to the floor.
Your arms reach out as I approach,
tall and proud but unafraid to drown myself
in your maleness.
But this is fantasy, a madness that can never be.
Protect me from what I want.
© 2012 RC deWinter
A fantasia on impossible desire.