Tumult On the Heels of a Dream Perceived Contact

    Tumult On the Heels of a Dream Perceived Contact

  (Originally penned between 2004-2007ish)

Sometimes I find things I've written in the past and when I find them I begin reading, assuming it is something somebody else wrote originally and I just transcribed it as a step to memorizing it.

Often times, this initial instinct is incorrect and it turns out I'm reading something entirely original and I can never quite reconcile that it really was me, even as the memory has resurfaced and I can again recall the process of the initial writing.

What follows after this is one such thing, I just found it while going through old acting school journals and headshots etc.

(on yellow lined paper, blue ink encased words flow contrary to the lines of the paper in two block columns as if it is an open page form a paperback, or any other book for that matter, but size wise it's about mass market paperback)
                                         
The place is somewhere. I couldn't name it if I tried. A home. Not my home, maybe not a home. A room, not my room but a room. Not a bedroom. Just a place, indoors and private. Seldom visited but comfortable. Maybe furniture, though the floor is where I sit. Reading. I may have been reading or writing but really I'm waiting. It isn't my place but I'm comfortable there. It could turn out to be my place after all; I'm not certain and it's possibly irrelevant. If I'm reading I'm also talking.

The other half of the conversation lays near me on the floor. There is a guarded relaxation, a restful uneasiness and alot of nothing being said. It only matters that there is some talking. It matters more that there is silence. The inane important chit chat is probably serious flirting.

Every syllable uttered is enveloped in meta vibrations that ascend and descend a scale of shared, potentially misconstrued, meaning. Surely it is more than flirting; this outright coded honesty. This is chess and better than. Pulse gallops, skips, plunges but the surface scene is one of total calm, so calm the silence its self sets off sparks as it shifts; languid and uncaring, a kite soaring in a windless sky.

None of the words exchanged are activators. They do not coax results in the physical realm but each one turns the rich deep earth of the heart, preparing the plot for a bountiful harvest.

This is all a moment, so much shorter than this ensuing reflection; the shadow of a mouse toward sundown it stretches longer than the reality even as this protracted instant is not reality. Though perhaps it does foreshadow it.

Conversation trickling along its own ebbed flow. Each snowflake sound treasured, savored, and stored and as quickly forgotten in the press to hear more; or so it is for this half of the dialogue-ing pair. The idle parley may be roused to a bout. Opinions gently jousting and the cannon ball fire of an in-taken breath produces a flesh wound silence.
An apology. An excuse: tired, sore, long day, the litany dispels the threat of conflagration and invites the opportunity for contact.

A brusque clinical assessment. Hands find the knot. Self focuses only, solely on the process of unlacing twisted fibers, dispersing lactic acids, closes out all other details.
Doesn't not notice, just refuses to acknowledge the closeness. The feel of his skin. The pulse. The breath. The dormant strength and perfection contained in his marble carved frame. All this will be stored and unpacked later.

Until the rhythmic delving of my palms are interrupted. Hand caught in another's that are larger, stronger. Pulled to a mouth to be lingeringly kissed.

Thoughts a quail flushed fury flee the lust leashed hounds of my affection. Free hand glides up to the neck's nape from where it was on the shoulder, fingers twine in thick locks...

And that is all as the kaleidoscopic possibilities fragment away into a spent waking.

The room reels to steadfast surety as my insides continue to swirl like sunshine jelly over the tumult of dream perceived contact.

I have sense of distant pending that I am presently to one day be in trouble, as they say.