Suspended gracefully like an acrobat
between reality and sleep’s resort,
my mind calls out to your image:
A king wandering in pilgrimage from his throne
seeking a more noble crown of humbler sheen.
I fight to believe in or against you
Not knowing yet if it’s safe to reach out,
or if I’m simply imagining hands within my reach,
promising to swing me to stable platform.
Yet I have seen you in life,
Tasted, touched, smelled you
Died in your bliss
And respawned a jubilant stranger to myself.
Somehow, you are real
- Or I am delusional,
Telling myself of your realness.
Are you simply a dream I ran too far in to?
Did I lose more than my concept of time on your lips?
But the memory of the electric energy in even your lightest touch,
The masterpiece built into your voice,
The strength that pools deeply in the intellectual hazel eyes
that cast unfathomable power over any in your gaze,
The courage of your heart, outsizing your doubts,
These are all more real to me in you
Than the concepts themselves associated with men;
You are no false idol built on stereotype,
But a reality only the life of the living could design,
And I soak in your complexity,
Draw boldness through my palms on your skin,
Glide in the ideas of your creative mind,
And winnow the finest parts of myself for display at the pleasure of your smile,
The cadence of your laughter,
Sowing in me the most elated of thrills…
On a deep sigh, I cast myself into the dreamworld night after night
With the surety of a blind acrobat
Putting faith in the hands of sleep to catch me
And allow me to continue this act outside our beautiful reality
As I fall into the dangerous blending
of fantasies realized