Dream a little dream of me

A Poem by E.

a little monologue from way back with allusions to a certain renaissance painter, to a german emigr�, to a haunted briton who survived consecutive suicides of his wives and to spear shaker

I lay here dreaming on the carpet, eyes closed with your image in the camera lucida of my eye. Legs spread, arms all in grotesque positions, the lead character of Arturo Ui, frozen in time and space.

Since i first saw you, you’d touched a place in my heart, i ‘d like you as my birthday present,

Minus the package and the drapery- no, nothing base here-, i’d revel in the ivory white of your neck,

Drink from the wells that are your eyes, and suffer your infectious smile. Watch you bathe in afternoon sun, the flecks of dust flying around your head like faerie.

“ Tarry, rash wanton! Am i not thy lord ? “

Instead i lay here framed, eyes closed.

Who was the culprit? Who wrote that scenario?

I ain’t put my goddamn signature in no script such as these, i swear. Friggin’ author, change that tune. I ain’t playin’ no more.

No, i will not fall into hysterics, nor i’ll fall for one –not, anymore-.

I shiver in the thought of your beauty, and i shiver for fear of experiencing that goddamned thing called love.

Thrice damned i’d be, if i’d hurt you, or let me be hurt again. Again, and again, and again.

No, i will not fall into hysterics, nor i’ll fall for one.

As i was saying this, i’d picture myself in my mind’s eye, all black and white and grainy, Torso bare, arms forward, back arched not without grace, all frozen in motion, about to dive.

Ennui, my old friend, i’m about to give.

Instead i lay here framed, eyes closed.

The sun on my face, hot sands attached to my body, the lullaby of waves in my ears.

I open my eyes to see the blue of sea merge with the azurest sky in the distant horizon.

Which one should i dive into?

My heart pounding, “blood in the brain deaf the ear”, overcome with beauty, how could i?

How i liked your quiet beauty, marveled in your intelligence, in your unassuming character, and your idealism,

I fear to touch you, for fear of invoking demons.

I dare not disturb your peace.

O Madonna of rocks, do i dare?

Ennui, my old friend, i’m about to give.

I’d walloved in thoughts lackaisidical, motions mechanical. Y’know, some say, love is spirit electrical.I swear, i’d not fall again for grace theatrical.

I fear, i fear, i fear.

I had to put my house in order, nearing that border,

Which divided reflection from self pity.

I fear to touch you, for fear of disturbing you.

You ought to be a kitty, then i’d stroke you, pat on your belly and go my way, all the while carrying the thought and pretty images of you.

Instead i lie here in limbo, legs all akimbo. Oh God, do i pray?

Instead i lay here framed, eyes closed.

I like your big brown eyes, your squared chin and your short dark hair. I wished you’d not dyed that with blonde. It did not suit you that much. I liked that tiny bead of sweat rolling alongside your forehead when you were talking to me, it gave me all kinds of thoughts, disturbed my concentration, caused me to stutter, i liked your quiet, natural laugh, i liked your sweet and low voice. I liked your modest manners. And did i tell you about that short hair of yours? If so, you should tell. I’m a sucker for short haired women, god knows why.

I fear for myself,

I fear for you,

I fear for ourselves,

Most of all, i fear fear itself.

I could revel in you for eternity and a day,

I mean, hell!

I.

Did.

Fell.