"Our Dreaming...."

....How do certain people end up in our dreams when we never casted them for the scene? Is it the Heart or the mind that's liable for this choosing? Or is it God doing all the directing? When we awake and feel like Newporting, "Smoking" when we've never been a smoker. Should we call or text them in the morning saying thank you for all the selfless pleasing? When we awake relieved of stresses that existed prior to us closing our lids on life, long before they showed up in the middle of the night, in the middle of our minds grabbing us compassionately firm by hand, demanding we jog with them, with permanently painted on smiles thru a field of pearl colored sunflowers made of long soft kisses. Do we send them sunflowers in the AM with a card that reads "Thank You For Running With Me?" I mean how does this work?

"Dreaming in the Middle of NY"

Dressed in matching summer outfits, "Love Wear," designed by the one and only "Cupid," we were all alone on a private pasture, hidden in a field of flowers made of many colors, like a pack of skittles. A picnic meant only for two, a couple of winged guards above, kept an eagle eye making sure to keep all rats and critters aside. The sun played our favorite song on an antique violin once used by a street performer, who sold it to buy the ring that he would one day place upon the finger of his soul mate.

The wind sang background with perfect melody, like Christmas Carolers. Happy to see the heart's in our eyes and too emotional to hold it all in the clouds cried light tears of joy. I hand fed her fresh fruit from the region of Chile, purposely making a mess on her lips so that I could clean them with a kiss. I wet her tongue with mine quenching her thirst for romance. She laid in my arms and I rocked her with warm passion; she is my baby.

The sun packed it's bags and headed home, while the moon clocked in and prepared a sweet tune on a piano once played by soldier, who kept himself alive during man's war by writing his wife love letters promising to never die on her. The fire flies danced across the sky, like fireworks and the stars played catch in the galaxy, like kids at a local park. This moment is the parents of perfect, "Better Than," and can get no better unless God is into tracing. I glued my hands and placed my prayers in the prayer box of the almighty. Tossed my wishes into the air and it skipped them across the atmosphere, like rocks on the bellies of sleeping lakes, and poof!! like magic the future I always pictured appeared. Too real to be true, I pinched myself more than twice which now explains how I woke up in so much pain.
Photo Model: Raeven Western

"More Than Friends; To Be or Not To Be?"

I arose, sun in my face, my eyes opened, like rose petals. Sweat beaded my brow, I had a nervous dream. I dreamed I Loved my friend, but was it just a dream? Because a mobile of Hearts, each painted pink with her name still circled around my head even after exiting bed. No subtitle; A,B,C or D options for having this feeling. Why do I? How do I? Well, it's all irrelevant when the friendship fairy tells you that it's wrong, but to be midgetly poetic, if I must say? "I simply just do." That's where existing consistently in one another's human world with all its colorful issues can get you and get you deep.

You see, solving your lives problems together on a daily, without the pressures of having to impress, is the true nature of a woman and man coexisting. So it is inevitable that this nature becomes a fly trap for feelings, we are drawn to the light which is normal and normal is comforting. It is peaceful and without expectations, it is dessert before dinner which makes us real cheeky and all warm inside for whom it is we admire. Them, just being them, is relaxing and attractive, but how does one make themselves blind to what's gorgeous to see, when everything else around is usually so ugly? I've chastised myself, "No,No,No...you just can't do this"...because catching feelings is friendship suicide, but am I wrong for disagreeing? She's become everything that follows the word best.

To some this may read weird because we've never had a face-to-face and shared a conversation over soy latté. I've never shook her hand and felt how soft the skin is, smelled her air or counted how many times she blinks when nervous and blushing bright pink. Yet her rise to this status has been a landslide over all other candidates. A term I hope she'll want to serve for more than eight years. I pray she leads my Love in that happy direction for a lifetime.

Clean Up On Aisle Me Please!!

Quiet as a mouse I tip toed through the house, wishing I had a night light because stumping my toe twice is a pain that makes it very hard to keep ninja silent. With my Polo's tightly glued to my thigh, and when I say glued I mean Krazy glued, like that man in the commercial with his head stuck to a medal beam, but my head was stuck to my thigh, like a colt on a cowboy's left leg.

Finally, I reached the privacy of the bathroom and locked the door, but I still couldn't find the courage to turn on the light. Too embarrassed to look at myself in the mirror, I just stood there sticky with my toe still throbbing, like a Looney Tune character. As I felt around in the dark all I could do was think to myself "Why does she keep doing this to me?" She meaning the woman of my dreams. Sliding in, like a thief in the night, all pretty and perky, as I lay hand on my man, helplessly asleep. She pulls down the cover on my mind and begins to fuck my brain with the fantasy of perfect dates, no arguing and non stop Love making because she wants it, no menstrual....Period!!! She comes and goes, leaving me with one sticky ass mess to shout out. Damn!! Whatever happened to just counting sheep and that old trusty-reoccurring, "I'm falling" dream?

The first time it happened I was 15 and it shocked me into realizing that I was now entering into the kingdom of manhood. Wikipedia calls it "Nocturnal Emission," my Grandpa called it "firing with your safety off, son" and well the most of us call it "A Wet Dream." Now one would ask "Why be embarrassed about it? It's natural, emotionless, drama free, you can't catch the cooties from it and damn it feels good!!!" The answer is "I don't know, it just is." My question is "At what age will having this flood in the lower region no longer be a shameful cloud over my conscience? Will I be 70 years old trying to wheel myself quietly through the halls of some retirement home so that I could quickly, oops I mean slowly change my diaper?" Or maybe it's just another example of Gods practical prank side, I mean he or she did give us George Bush.

Whatever the case may be I guess I will just have to see the humor in it.........Starting now