sound is important. he’s dreaming.
he can’t get out of his consciousness.
he’s awake. who’d he wake up next to?
he’s alone. he was always awake.
not always. for a few days. how many
days? he stretches his forehead to flatten
it out, trying to concentrate. when was he
dreaming last. he didn’t just wake up. he’s
been awake. but just a portion, a fragment.
he’s trying to remember anything from his
latest dream, even when it was, what he
felt. he wasn’t alone. he was with the
people who blow themselves kisses.
all the time. it’s all he remembers.
with these people. they must be
friends. they kiss the prints
on their fingers, blow the
kisses off lightly, and
then, very delicately,
gracefully, as if through
a freshly spritzed scent
flowing through the air
of a department store,
they walk through the
swirling air filled with
their very own kisses
until they, presumably
feel sufficiently adored.
