I had a dream last night, I don’t often remember dreams.
My boy was in it. Someone had beaten him with copper wire, I wanted to see it. I made him take his shirt off to show me, his pale upper back criss-crossed with cuts and marks. I look at it, it makes my stomach lurch with lust. I grab his injured flesh, closing my fist on it, digging my nails into the torn skin, he flinches and melts, both at the same time.
I feel his surrender, just as I have always felt it.
Then I kiss him, my absolute favourite. It is awkward though, somehow, but I don’t care and in the dream I feel him trying to give me what I want, and I am trying to take it. I shove him backwards, he lands on a bed and I am on him, my mouth locked with his, trying to get more of him.
He has to leave then, he assures me he will be back. I believe him and I let him go. I feel content.
It sounds all literal doesn’t it? But you know dreams are never about what you think they are about… it’s too obvious. I think this one is about yams. And world peace.
Either way, it was lovely and I woke up feeling happy about it.