Memories are just a mirror of the thought of a past energy. The intangible essence – it penetrates.
It fleshes my soul like the interior doorways of my mind.
It finds me some place in the night…some place I render all my walls hidden in a room of the unknown and to never really know – in all the worlds.
We all live.
Not just one.
There are pockets.
Even inside our own dreams –
Of our reflection.
Finding the only truth is…. presence.
In a hypothesis of how I found myself staring into a mirror
Of a dirty withered soldier mustered and worn
After war…and seeing through the fog..finally.
Who is this woman?
Putting my hand under the warm faucet
In place of you…
I’m lost and helpless…..
But I’m not.
And where I am.
Is so fucking scary.
The stakes just keep getting higher.
Throbbing of the hotel room next to me seeping through the walls – her moans increasing like the sounds of a thousand deaths and rebirths….sliding down the foundation. Powerless of her screams…and, surrendering to his needs….
Just a whisper away – and I feel a bit intrusive, though, I’m listening….infringed with the thickness of her orgasmic purrs and my visuals…I’ve pulsated my own thoughts and my own story…..
Thus, the dream versus the reality…we all are dreaming beings…after all.
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 | tony b russell on Surreal Floetry… |
 | theitinerary1 on TWA Flight…805 |
