A Couple of Dreams

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Before brittle bones buy you out
of a reckless dream tickling you pink,
before tired loins give up on you,
why not throw all caution to the wind?
No flaccid arms should stop you zip
through virgin dreamscapes, nor fear
cut the throb pumping pure pleasure
bursting through your ecstatic throat.
Suns do not set here atop the trees,
there are only fierce blue skies staring
you blind as you dangle on your wire,
shrieking, eyes shut, your raucous cry,
a wild howl of triumph over dread
that growing old leaves you graceless
among the willowy and the delicate,
a hapless hag on a throne of words.
Why not a dive from that bright sky?
A tandem clutching each other, sure
of an embrace that will not weaken
even as you float down to the ground?
Dreams are made of these: a soaring
to heights unknown, a mellowing
of flames, a folding of chairs at day’s
end, to wake up eager for yet another.

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