More dreams

My own alone:

Our sands, and you come up out of the water gasping. I would like to say sword in hand, but in my dream your hands are empty. You look at me as if to ask something, but I shake my head and merely pull you over me and down, your head between my thighs. Only after my cries have met the wind do I permit you to consider your own relief. You lift me up and then press me against a bank of rocks; I feel the disparity in our heights.

I wonder how long these dreams will come. I think of them as a test of my will, just now. I would gladly move forward with you but I will not be pulled back into despair or expectation. And if they are erotic, well, it suits us both and our past, does it not.



About Jenn

Find me on Twitter @JennGruden
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