Dreams

My dreams are more real than anything that I’m told is real when I am awake. In the mirror of my own impression , where no time separates my instars.

Little girl, child in the underneath, in my dreams you are the God of sounds.

Spinning webs of words to make horizons of cities and landscapes that crumble and transform every time you change the placement of your tongue against the roof of your mouth.

This isn’t romance. It’s made of magic. Magic that heaves in a dark place that most would find terrifying. It would eat them alive.

This is the place where we reign.  Building everything with every breath. Redefining matter and space. Pulling from chaos, as it is an open source.

You are a first manifestation of the sounds of that inception- plucking your cunning chords like a music box in the underbelly of my knowing. The very music box I dreamed of just nights before. You are the deja vu of all those only places I am truly alive in. And when I remember you, I remember who I am.  A God.

Don’t stop making those sounds, don’t stop reminding me. Don’t stop tugging at my ankles to sink back down into the other side.