in the spirit of kongee, i wax lyrical..

poetry again.
style inspired by kongee.
Siao Liao, this is really called I-am-slacking-around-on-the-Labour-Day-Holiday.

Last night I dreamt of you:

It was raining in my dream, and I was running after a bus that refused to wait for me.

Somewhere down the road, it stopped and you made a space for me next to you.

The inner seat, and not the outer one, as though you wanted to protect me.

I was surprised, and rightly so, for I had never thought you would so do;

Perhaps it was because of the fat, lecherous unknown who had run with me for the bus and climbed in after me?

But anyway, the open-sided bus wove its way along the forested roads

and the humidity and rain made it cool and lovely.

Rising above a riverside gorge, I remember thinking that only eutrophication could have made the water such a deep green.

We laughed at the people wading their algae-coated way through the river,

and generally had a good time.

Flash.

Same position, you on my left, on a sofa watching the TV.

White sofa in a messy room, facing a wall of cupboards.

For some reason, I put my hand on your knee.

I do not know what made me so bold.

You reciprocated by curling an arm around my shoulders.

I cannot describe that feeling; I cannot put it into words.

I felt like I was home again, after a long and weary walk in the wilderness. Like it was the place I should rightly occupy, to be beloved by you.

Chin on your knee, and you let me channel-surf with the remote.

I was happy with your silence,

and you were comfortable with my dependence.

And then they came in; two,

unknown again, other vague characters of dreamland

The channel was Wikipedia then; I must have confused a computer monitor with the TV.

The two expounded on relationships;

and said we were an example of a Dominant-Loyalist pair or some such

(whatever would that mean?)

It was enough to bring us to self-awareness, and we both sat straight.

Before long, my hand found yours, and you pulled my hand to your lips.

Blushing, I stood and walked out of the room; you followed.

Willing you to ask; for some reason, next to the ironing board.

You would have knelt down and taken out a ring, in idealism,

but then I woke up.

To the realization that it was all just a dream,

And I refused to unclose my eyes and uncurl myself from the bed, for a reluctance to face the reality that such a dream would never be.

I am content to live in the happy fantasy.