I dream the scent of onions frying in a pan
I dream of flying
and slicing crusty artisan bread
I dream that you kissed her and I understood
the wrestling of demented figures in the shrouds beneath the mountains
I dream I am writing
to Billy, the agony aunt of dreams
and penning embroiled tales about penanggalan
I write of stored data in my membranes
I write of dreams that are stirred by the Sun
I dream of your skin that has the Sun in it
I dream the plates are warming in the oven
And the scraping crunch as you butter toast
The weight of cutlery is a pavlovian clang
Calling me away from dreams
I remember the dream as if I were dreaming still
I dream of lucidity and remember illusions of control
I dream of collaboration and the ease of water
I walk with you in the Imbolc light, following the joyous gurgle of the river
And I dream deeply of a wide berth from scrambled minds
Much like mine but less abstained
I dream to taste coconut and cacao on my tongue
But love that you made me scrambled eggs with curry powders and coriander
I love the sound of the chopping board beforehand
I dream of home with you when I am here
And I yearn to create dreams
Instead I fall into my phone, not for entertainment always
But sometimes for writing
vital notes that could change my life
I write down these ideas and other kinds of dreams until they overflow
I yearn for you to rearrange your time around my dreams although I know you have your own
I dream of activity like the solar greening of Spring, the rush that instigates me once a year
Twice if I am lucky
I wonder if I can dream it into steady frequency
Listening to the oil heater click and the static inside my ears makes me think I can
Dream of writing, painting and dissolving for a living
I dream a simple life where I also devour flames
I dream I am a mother and artist and I am chosen
I am a taker, watching the river run deep
🎨/📷 by Henri Matisse, Polynesia, the sky, 1946