Sometimes she’s like a dangerous dream:
She’s as real as the reflection of the moon,
on the clean rearview mirror,
in an abandoned meadowland,
full of bloomed yellow dandelions.
Full of overgrown,
summer green- prickly grass,
where a dozen of long legs,
stare into the distance
at the car’s headlights,
when driving in the dense fog
and ghostly night.
But, they don’t bother to move an inch,
from your sight.
You stop, you sigh,
You look at the reflection of the moon
On your rear-view mirror,
as your eyes travel to your blurry dream,
your sleepy brain yawns in every direction,
wanting to melt into the darkness.
Sometimes, she’s just a beautiful dream:
Lying on her back,
on a large sweet smell meadow,
Letting her breath out slowly,
each petal of a fresh dandelion,
listening to the murmuring winds,
and the music of the meadow,
Stretching as far as her eyes could see,
Dreaming of the Man
who dances in her head…
May 16, 2021
Cheshire, CT USA