A person appears to me in my dreams. Sometimes as a man, sometimes as a boy. He is beautiful, but his soft, vaguely tired face always fills me with sadness. He is a lonely dream, I think.
We dance a waltz in fields that have no name, surrounded by moonlit and melancholy flowers of an undiscovered, alien genus. No botanist or poet has told the world of their fleeting beauty. He is not inclined to speech, but he hums angelic songs for me, when we share such nights.
we sail a modest craft across an endless ocean, that is timid at our presence. The scent of many storms lingers fresh, but the waters regret such malice. He looks out at the unchanging view with appreciation, and a wistful smile. There are no sounds of life beyond our vessel. We explore the cosmos at the scope and pace of our leisure, drifting up into the night sky, through clouds... Then, into space we delve, past our moon and sun. We marvel at the breathtaking nebulae as they incubate unborn stars. We embrace, sharing visions of life that sleeps before us... We turn our attention to the scale of galaxies. In silent tears, we bask in the complexity of these esoteric malformations. The faces of gods...
We lay side by side on a familiar bed, waking to the sight of each-other’s faces as the morning light vaguely illuminates the room. I marvel at the love we share, and hug him close. I listen to his heartbeat... How complex the binary processes of existence must be, to produce such divine events as the beating of my love’s heart... I adore these times... Yet, I can place no preference on one over another. They are truly equivalent.