Waking Dreams

I'm tumbling and falling darkly into oblivion's well;
I fear I need pain's aide to be pulled back from the edge.
The rhythmic pounding of blood in my brain;
the wings of black alabaster buffeting wind in my face.

Familiar stranger, ghost in my mind,
lately I've seen your face in my dreams.
'Tis passing strange for I've always dreamed,
though a face has ne'er appeared through the fog.
Was it your soul calling out to me,
or am I simple and crazy?
My restless wandering spirit projecting
to ease my alone and lonely feeling.

What is the might-have-been,
what is the might-still-be?
It is the familiar, that I always return to;
yet 'tis still strange for it is unknown.

It is bodies melting together like molten glass,
dancing and flowing in the passionate flame.
It is the spark of sweet hot breath
when lips almost touch, softly brush.
It is the comfort of a warm down quilt
wrapped around me on a cold winter night.
It is the trickle of a bead of salty sweat
slowly coursing down a warm supple spine.