Il rêve de toi (he dreams of you)

His dreams, they reach for you. From deep within his sleep, unaware of time, or the distance before waking, he sees a golden sunlight, chromatic, refracting through a prism of green.

Capillaries, veins, breathing, swaying: beech leaves. A forest washed pewter with frost, a woman in moonlight, reading a letter. Your aura, a riot of saffron and bronze, your scent a sensual song of white blossoms, lavender and pear.

Your eyes shine like glass. Wet with life and light. Scorpion, Piscean, your tides shift with his, one drawn to the pull of the other. You’re washed away over softened sands, revealing a buried treasure.

And with a pirate’s quest, he’s now possessed, to uncover where you’re hidden. Imagine the smooth hard oak of his oar worn hands, heavy in his grip, pushing deep, dipping under silky smooth waters. Every stroke drawing him closer to your shores.

His carnal want and need, carving his wake between your thighs, igniting you deep inside; your inner light burning bright in his eyes, your name scored deep into the calcium of his chest, his plundering heart beating for your name, his fox tied, with wild cries, your muffled love caught in his mouth.


His archimedean dreams spiral. His written words crumble. His prose flakes like snow, settling in an earthen-clay hearth of hot ash. Fire over paper and wax, running down inside him, thudding heavy, with every slice of his woodsman’s axe.

Hearts of oak, hammer under the dusk of another day. Footprints, forgotten, their memory left pressing down into the ground, leaving indelible prints in the bonds of your Avalon forest.

A dreamscape of his imagining, a confetti of scattered dreams. Arboreal, carvings hewed from the wood that grew, and how she now splits, ripe and telling. Years sawn and cleaving for more, as fresh embers spark half-dying in the air, tumbling to the crack of the fire beneath.

Flame shadows dance on the features of your face, your eyes drawn to the flicker of the fire. Your love lit with his, shadows dancing, carbon and light, his curious eyes following a chain of daisies, a tattoo of temptations drawn over your skin.

Forever in your veins, threading long woven ropes of blood, you hold on to the heat, and through it sleep. And the spark? She just waits. Somewhere between your sheets, the forged head of his heavy axe splitting, and the smooth hickory of his masculinity growing slowly harder inside you.

A memory coming, clouding over the skyline of your mind merging with his, a bruise of sunset colors pressing against a blush of white lilies, now begging to bloom. An artist’s brush stirring inside a fresh glass of clear water, where the blood bruise colors of your sunset sky run, one inside the other.


A soft soil earth, giving in, sinking beneath your bare knees, a damp wet of dark bark and the sound of his baying. His full blood red moon, howling hard for the harvest of you. Your fingers grip their fists, clenching tight, holding on to the thick thatches of wild grass smothering the forest floor.

The impossible feel of him behind you, his velvet, smooth and hard, his antler rutting, rubbing his manhood deeper inside you, begging to find bare bone. Animal wild and set free inside you. His moan primal, groaning out across a body of open water, the deep of him inside you, pulling your light into the shadows of his lust.

He wants you. He needs you. His tide, rising, climbing, feeling the healing from inside you, the hurt held hostage deep in the heart of his hidden hollow. He comes warm with wanting you.

Il rêve de toi (he dreams of you)