I had three strange dreams last night: one of which required you. After witnessing the psychopaths slitting the throats of their guests, and massive shortage of food in alternate Japan, I found you in bed. It was an Idyllic little house in the middle of the city, with wild roses blooming wayward on the edge of the sidewalk. The curtains block the sun out, trap my body on top of yours. Who’s to say craving of a body is love or not-love? The things we lost are the things we desire the most. The kettle’s grief for the evaporation of water boiling over the stove. The winter’s yearning of love from the arthritic bones of the weak. Some things turn sour too soon without much provocation. Some things we must keep to ourselves, grind into the finest dust save for the memory of their grainy texture. The tragedy of the mismatched socks underneath the tailored pants, the injustice of forgotten friends from the summer of your sixteenth year. The fear of righteous entrapment. The horror of perceived scarcity. This song I am singing badly with the wrong words. Things that shouldn’t be discussed in present company include what I did in my third dream with you.
I am participating in Leah’s Winter 2016 Scavenger Hunt Writing so that I would be more committed to writing daily. This is prompt number eleven: Things that shouldn’t be discussed in present company.
Check out Leah’s Scavenger Hunting 2016 here: