THE ITALIAN DREAM

All throughout my life, even as a child, I have been one of those individuals whose dreams, every now and then, are sometimes not only vividly remembered, but eventually become reality. This was one such instance, though doomed from the beginning not to have a happy ending, that none the less inspired these words. I was visiting the island of Ischia in the bay of Naples…

the italian dream

 

the light was diffuse,

the view blurred around the edges.

the colours were titian,

filtered with subtle feeling and selected shadow.

the atmosphere was thick with expectation,

like pouting clouds, heavy with rain,

threatening thunder that perhaps wouldn’t come…

 

she, in contrast to the colours surrounding,

stood before me, apprehensive,

filled with feeling, filled with fear,

pale in the soft light falling.

as i slipped into this awareness,

as i wrapped myself with this dream,

i saw that she was half dressed,

a lacy silken top defined her small breasts,

her nipples hardening

beneath the soft woven shadow of cloth.

her nervousness fed my apprehension of the situation,

a paradox of feeling overwhelmed me…

 

i gently drew her towards me and slipped

the top’s straps from her shoulders.

it slid slowly down over those hard nipples,

leaving them pertly standing at attention as it fell to the floor.

she shivered,

whether from fear, from anticipation

or from desire, i didn’t know.

it didn’t really matter, she would have to deal with it,

as i too had to deal with my desire…

 

dreams are strange things.

everything makes sense and doesn’t.

the dream is often so vivid, so real,

the recollection so blurred, so fuzzy…

 

the next awareness that found my consciousness

was feeling her lying next to me, both of us naked.

i drank in her thinness, each drop doubling my desire,

each observation feeding my fantasy.

all i could feel was my growing hunger

and her warming softness,

and she was warming…

 

i ran my hand lightly along her back,

around her thigh and down the back of her leg.

she tensed once again at my first touch,

but then relaxed somewhat.

when i ran my hand back up to her breast

and slowly coaxed the nipple up,

she began to breathe a bit faster.

i tried to imagine her passion moving from there,

through her thoughts and fears

down to that sacred valley,

a sudden surge of moist energy stirring deep emotions

and awakening long dormant physical processes.

i became aware of my own rising currents

and wondered how she would choose to navigate them.

her touch was hesitant, uncertain, pure…

 

i could anticipate her tightness,

feel the tenseness of her body

beginning to respond to my subtle overtures.

i kissed her once on the mouth, full and long

and nibbled my way down her neck to her shoulder.

from there i manoeuvred further,

circling one small breast with my tongue,

the other found my finger.

her nipples hardened. again.

she held her breath.

and i held that precious moment in my hands,

forever captured in the dream.

 

ischia, italy     1996

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© 2014 nightpoet all rights reserved

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