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Dreaming of Dances
She dances so far from me, playing with faux ecstasy
A living dream lasting ephemerally, but burning behind my eyelids like sunspots not fading completely
When I think of her, my living fantasy, I want what I can't have and it tortures me
As it should, having spent so long so lonely, and her knowing what I mean precisely
She dances to remove her stress, teasing faceless men in slinky velvet dress
Going back home after causing duress, but causing herself the same through sexuality repressed
And I want her with all my being, after being thoroughly impressed with all that she and I late night confess
Sometimes I wish I was one of the faceless, dancing with her closely, body pressed to breast
But, I don't think that that would be a remedy, I couldn't live with the anonymity
I want to make love to her thoroughly, and for her to drop walls if she ever realized mutual love for me
I don't know what forces I'm playing with, be it fate or destiny, but the only time I feel right is writing to my Living Fantasy
I know she reads this and wonders about the layers between thought and poetry, but, when she looks in my eyes, I think the answers will be there instantaneously
-David "Dingo" Bleecher