Dream Violent

I woke like some creature caught in headlights - an image too widely used I know - but too early to rise so I wandered about the house naked, taking in all the living perfumes you left. I took the washing now dry from the grazing clothes horse and thought of what a fool I had been.

I had dreamed violent and within finally got to meet you again, seven weeks and three days after you had last drank my coffee.

We argued. A simple phrase for what transpired, and when I woke, feeling tender for my dream was the colour of black and purple bruised flesh, swelling abound and pain a'plenty, I thought of what a fool I was.

So I boiled a kettle and drank a coffee and thought of horses and tried to think of you in some beautiful light, and how close to Heaven I thought I had reached. So close it was to be reached and grasped but then, in suckle, it was just your breast. You were controlling me. I stank of rotting fruit.

I had dreamed violent, and within you had told, in all terms, what a fool I was. "You think about things too much."

Jimmy?   

Is that you?