In this dream an older woman in a dress
short and proud a hostess at a frequented restaurant
fell onto a colorful bed (her dress also colorful
green like a conifer). Her black hair
more than tinged with silver she throws herself
onto the bed diagonally spread face upward
amorous lustful one who has never
shown such emotion in
reality?
She has a penis and she begs me to grab it. I do.
Our
realities are now intertwined. What will remain
of the word until our synapses rust with
time in some as-yet-determined
“Garden of Memories”?
How to
make this more palatable
on yet another Thanksgiving afternoon? He’s a
fanatic about coherence stayed late at work so
big death at gym. Big dearth I mean.
Supposedly have date with
TonytheTiger tomorrow.
