Dreamtime: Beyond the windows

When she opened up the shuttered windows of her mind a smile rippled on her cheeks.  It resembled the moon shine through the shadows of the trees.  He compared her to the moon goddess in his more romantic writings. Just as Diana would have laid claim to the face of that white orb, so the face behind the window became his lover's when he thought of that brilliant smile.

The first time it had happened it had taken him by surprise. Furtively, he had thrown a glance her way, searching for that imperceptible opening into her heart, her mind, her desires. He sought out those delights that hid in the lilt of her accent, the swing of her hips as she walked and in the curve of her sweet thigh.

The bent and bruised grass , abandoned to the starry night, was ample evidence of his loving dance with her.  Even though she would be nowhere to be seen, she left a glint of memory in the corner of his mind, as he lay there with his eyes closed. He told himself that when he reopened them she would be there, quivering at the edge of his reverie, as twilight thickened to darkness, pierced with stars. Then he returned to indecision and mourned loss, groaning dspondently in his fitful sleep, his head filled with the nightmare of abandonment.

In another room and it could have been another world, she remembered the sound of his voice - puzzled, aggrieved, angered. She had put her pillow over her head to blot it out..and she must have drifted off.

The next thing that she could remember was the sound of someone, moving quietly across the room towards the window, to stare out fitfully, sleeplessly.  Where had this likeness of her lover come from and what did it want of her?

Her mind swung back to the past, when he had seemed so much more wise and able to cope than she. She wanted him back to that time when he had sat by her, comforting her head as she fought her way out of yet another angry illustration of her complete disillusionment.

He could stoop to touch her lightly and run his tongue across her lips but it would be an infinitely forgettable sensation. It would take more than that to set a rush of emotions bubbling up through her.  She was not ready to allow such impetuous designs to burst forth at the surface of her stream to broaden her life and wear away the scope of her feelings. Even if it was really him sitting by her again, she was determined that she would take control, crooning softly to constrain the shadowy disturbances of the night that lurked on the threshold of sleep.

Someone in the room had been her once and never ending nightmare. Now, he would often stand at her window. breathing deeply and she would, without knowing why, pretend to sleep. If the night were aglow with stars in a cloudless sky, he would pull back the curtains and show present her with those resplendent jewels, hers forever until morning.

Then came the reassuring whisper: "It's only me."

She started up in sleepy recognition. She could sense his shadow in the darkness. The scent of him - warm, agreeable, masculine. He turned in the window - in the moonlight and stood there - a still life. She wanted to sympathise with his evident misery and patted the side of the bed offering him a seat.

She felt it would be nice to have him...sitting there, taking her into his confidence. A conspiracy to break the crepuscular silence with eager murmurs - a pre-dawn feast of exchanged secrets. Then she was sure he would sigh and ask her to kiss him. When she put her arm around his neck, his cheek would feel wet with tears.  The dampness would leave her feeling maternal and warm and safe against him. Somnolent at this early hour she would drift back to sleep and into a sweet dream.

She wanted to fly, light as stardust.  She needed to slip  easily through the complexities of his universe.  Her arms and her legs would were receptive and malleable to the power coursing through him.  Together in their dreams, the windows of both their souls unshuttered,  they could swoon and pulse through an eternity of space.

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