Sunday, May 17, 2009

Dream of a Welcoming Home

I dreamed again, for second night in a row, and I woke with the sweet and saltiness of it, rested at last.

You came back.

I open the front door to you, somehow knowing you were there and somehow still surprised to see you. You walk in, around the door and I to place your bags upon the shoe chest. I stand there watching, waiting for you in what little patience I have.

I take a step forward as you straighten. With one hand on your chest the weight of almost a year apart, held captive in our two forms, slams the door shut. The neighbors jump, shaking their heads and grinning to themselves.

And I am pressing myself up against you, your face in my hands as your arms tighten around me, your kiss strange and seasoned by the exotic places you’ve played war in. As I take from you your travels, I bring you back into our home.

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