Last night I dreamt of you. You talked and touched with equal measure as we lay together.
I've never heard you say so much about yourself before
so I knew by that that it was a dream
still I listened, in the joy of being close to you.
You described your centre as "a fridge, you know,
the kind that has vegetable cut-outs stuck on the door"
and the image was of a seven-year-old's mis-coloured drawings
treasured and loved where all could see
yet you were cold on the inside.
I said words that I have long thought, old words.
that I could see the fridge (you thought no-one could),
slipping through your protective layers to observe, but I had no key for the inside.
You laughed, and through a wave of ecstacy I head you say "Isn't that a little embarrassing to you?"
as if seeing only partly into people's minds was like walking in on them in their underwear
as if it would matter.
Then we did not talk much for a while
I do not know what we did
for the dream was only the energy fields
and I was too high, too encompassed, to know more.