Tropical winds carry with them
memories of passion and longing ~
the scarlet flush of a stolen kiss and
other dreams from distant lands.
My bones lay heavy and dull,
held in place by a force stronger than gravity.
It’s hard to emerge from this dewy world
where dreams of lust and longing,
seduction and satisfaction
hold me fast with long, sticky fingers -
trapped between dream and waking.
I lay here, savoring the pleasure,
gazing out the window as pecan branches sway
and rustle, tickled by those sultry breezes.
I’ve slept so deeply these last few nights;
ambrosia for an insomniac.
It’s the same sodden slumber and deep dreaming
I experienced after moving to New Orleans,
with its enveloping, steamy air and those same southern, Gulf winds
making their way north from the Caribbean,
carrying their stories and their sorrows with them.
And these remnants infuse my dreams,
flooding the valley of my subconscious
with a pungent, penetrating musk
of jasmine and brine.
