Night Morning

nightmorning

In the time between night and morning.  In the delirium of the border country between awakening and near post sleep, a kiss dreamed can feel real.  The whipped, ephemeral body feels solid enough to elicit a reaction in those in-between hours.  Sugary sweet it must be. The mind sees.  The neck cranes.  The lips reach to embrace.

As the eyes open more, to let in a little more light, the mind becomes more aware –  much more aware of the silly situation it has placed the whole in.  The embarrassment pricks the ego, but the loss of that ethereal moment stings and is more pungent.

“If life is but a dream, better you dream than the awakening.”

“What did you just say, Doctor Jones?” I asked.

She shook her head before adjusting her glasses; pushing them higher up on the bridge of her nose. “It was nothing.  Just a quote from a movie.  So tell me how long have you been having this dream?”

“For several months,” I replied.  “It’s just that it feels more like a memory… Like I’ve been there before.”

In the twilight shadows, I caught the movement of a dandelion Afro in side profile.  I cupped my hands into the shape of a funnel, distilling creativity through pursed lips.  I exhaled the seed of a thought from the overripe dandelion, silhouetted against navy clouds. This thought outran the other stars streaming toward her waiting ear.

Having received and decoded the message, the idea snapped and crackled as it navigated the dendrites and lit up the neurons. Her expression said it all.  Her smile and the mischievous twinkle in her eye said she understood. The mind sees. The arm extends. The hand reaches to caress.

Recognizing, I’ve been fooled again.  Shame on me.  The point is, the ghost doesn’t have a body.   None of this is really happening and I’m in-between again.  Traveling the same dream again.

“Do you understand what my dream means, Doctor Jones?”

“Doctor?  What doctor?  You’re dreaming again,” my wife said, with a tired and slightly annoyed voice.  “Go back to sleep.”  She turned over and pulled most of the covers on to her side of the bed.

 

by malakhai jones
(c) Copyright 2016

27 Comments

      1. Thanks again Candice. I love reading what you see and the way you describe the imagery as well. I can’t simply like your works in the WordPress reader. I have to go to your page to do so. Might you know why?

        Liked by 1 person

    1. Am I becoming predictable? πŸ™‚ You never know, it could still turn in any direction. I’ve toyed with the idea of revisiting these stories and adding on to them. Still trying to work my way through newer ideas first. I do appreciate the feedback and you taking the time to read my work.

      Liked by 1 person

  1. Great work, M…your story went in a direction I didn’t expect–discussing a dream within a dream. Dreams can be both terrifying and wonderful. Some of my best are when I dream of my parents, who have been gone for quite a few years. In dreams, I can visit them again.

    Liked by 1 person

      1. Yeah…I think it was because he knew most of my stories didn’t have happy endings, so he never expected a positive outcome…not really sure, though. But I got over it; after all, it was just one opinion among many.

        Liked by 1 person

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