In Vino Veritas (your teasing tainted me)

Last night the you I have so dearly missed awoke again in my dreams, you came to me as if by pure providence, capturing my imagination and reminding me of the depth of your desire, the throbbing sensation of your heart beating the reality right out of me. Last night, you teased me until the blush on my cheek reflected in the redness of the latest open bottle. Last night…


I don’t quite remember the moment my senses gave in to the fantasy feeling of this crashing crush I have developed on my bed. I crave it and cannot wait for my head to meet my bed’s pillows, for there in between the sheets and the real world I find you. I feel you take over the night and tear my weakness apart, discard of the layers I so carefully put on every day. In you, I find this alarming sense of open wonder, not from you, but from within myself. You draw me out and force me to shine, force me to find the good in myself and let it be reawakened.


As with any of my dreams, I desire to understand you, I want to understand how something this simple can be this complicated. I want to know you better, yet you are an illusion, a figment of my troubled imagination, every time I get close to grasping the meaning of it all, you slip into the bright sunlight and leave me with only more questions. You have existed forever, but you are like the wind.


I feel you all around me, yet I cannot see you, cannot hold on to you, cannot make you stay. When I try to really see you, you are but a blur, yet I cannot take my eyes off of you. Perhaps it’s the wine. Perhaps it’s my subconscious trying so very hard to suppress even the slightest thought about you. You are not real. I tell myself this over and over again. Yet there you are when I close my eyes. I find myself looking out of my window wondering when you will show up at my door. You are not real. (Sure, keep telling yourself that)


Sanity is a relative concept. Am I insane for allowing this fiction to fill my facts where reality has been found wanting? Or am I sane for allowing myself to dream of having it all? From the moment my pen found its persistence to return to the thought of you, you tease me and taunt the sanctity of my sanity. A part of me argues against it, but I cannot help myself. I most ardently wish for your return even in the most hopeless of dreamless nights.


It is your eyes I wish to look into, your kisses that I want upon my lips. I cannot ask you to promise me anything. It would be foolish to expect the return of a dream so sweet that waking from it fills my days with longing for a time before I knew how sweet dreams could be. Yet here I am, dressed for the occasion, waiting for the clock to strike as I drain the last lingering sips of my magic potion, ever hopeful that tonight my dreams will take sympathy on me and allow me a moment of unsurpassed ecstasy as my brain is put to rest and my senses are heightened by the feeling of the wind blowing softly over my skin…




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