|
The sweet night holds no terror when the hormones induce virtual reality and the eyeballs spin involuntarily in their orbs searching out from the swirl of half-remembered images those daytime fantasies of the fleshy form. No longer the crusty interior of eyelid the focus, but a backward peek at the spark held by the mind's love-screen. Watch the innocent dreamer alone whose snooze is alive with understatements of reproduction; toes curl, buttocks flex and the undulant pelvic pump winds the counterpane into quilty, damp knots as the dreamseeker sends fingertips groping and lips glistening in the search, the probe, the horny sheet rub -- all to dream the closeted romp. Lips swollen and groping to reach other lips swollen and drools wet the pillowed nest; the dreamy patch sweetly revisited as nectars fill the vibrating creases of the night. This sleep must end. But the dream eternal is the same dream that pushes sepal and petal out of stem and calyx; that ruts the horned beast into wallows of musky roar; that struts the cock's feather and throat into explosion of fantail and gorge; and it is the same dream that drives the fish head up the mountain streams to the life source nest All to lay the waiting egg. All to tap the waiting egg. |
