This

October is the cruelest month... mixing memory with desire.

Eyes open, mind not yet awake, body coming to the surface as consciousness breaks slowly. Straining to hold onto that place behind my  closed eyes. Tussled dreams of dark places, twisted metal, smiling faces and wrestling towards something. When I squeeze my eyes shut harder and roll them back into my head, I can feel that space I left, hovering, flitting beneath the surface. It is that which I try to capture here, that which I wish you could hear.

Bound and bond to needs. Finishing  roughly what the dream started, slowly pivoting and grinding. Body mimicking mind gasps. Shooting deep into air metaphorically and physically. Collapsing back as grey light filters in a pause. Deeper centering breathes as the heart slows and that emotional and chemical glow finds me more awake then not now.

Standing over porcelain, aiming tumescence by sound more than sight, back popping comfortably. Clean etched feet on marble, hard floor. A glimpse out of doors to greens and blue. Morning comes early this day. A comfortable shudder and shake, those chills that creep your neck and spine like the slow, strong fingers of a well known lover. Waking up in this body. Neck creaking, arms flexing, putting the plant through its paces. That easing of tension before thought even comes about action.

A sit outside, wind talking in trees. Trees showing the pale undersides of their leaves. Fall following fastly with yet a hint of summers reprieve. A promise of cold snap to come. A prelude of the past meeting today. Mind floats and open hand with arm raises in silent greeting to another who fetches and passes by. A shared smile and rueful expression crosses faces as I greet the morning and others outside in a old friends woolen sweater and my flannel boxers, thankfully not tenting or gaping in pugnacious defiance of propriety.

Return in to calm, quiet domicile, no lights flipped, no machines awoke, no sounds stirred, no break in the silence. Only me padding, feet comfortable on hardwood and stone, clean glass and polished steel reflecting opaque images of the figure that passes by. Why alone this morning? Why not shared this space? Will this always be?

Keeping that place in my head, waiting and wanting. Tripping lightly down memory lane, walking in dappled shadows, all those thoughts that under the mirrored surface never come, missed by internal filters and wrung of humanity before presentation. How to live out that me to others, that person we all are inside and never share, even barely with ourselves. Of unconscious and conscious urges. The sleeping when tired, the eating when hungry, the sexing when aroused, the talking when lonely, the searching when needing, the walking when restless and still it all goes around.

What is this life? Who is this man? Somewhere in this frame resides all that is me, but still feels larger than the sum of each my many strong parts. Will this softness be shared? Will someone out there care? To have and to hold.

Losing like a gossamer filament in the gusting wind. The raising of my mind slow blows it past where I was at. I cannot capture that fancy that lives. Like a wil-o-the-wisp leading me on my way. Just out of reach, my dreams in mid-air seem to fade away, turning day to day, further away.

October is the cruelest month...mixing memory with desire.