In my first long sleep in ages such dreams. Such strange sleeps.
In one the happy girl from high school in a red dress with fine pleats and red stockings with seams. Laughing, smiling always flush cheeks the radiant face of mischief.
And in another fighting a war of some sort I forget, there are so many such noise on an elite team sent to hide the enemies’ weapons so both sides could hear themselves think together and I could finally sleep the team was so tired but we'd pretend to forget and kept on hiding move and hide, move and hide with silence kill the noise take cover, send message mission complete send exfil back to sleep.
In another or maybe the same my closest friends beside me so few now not entirely happy that I dreamt them yet so close I don't stay is what it should say on my clothes.
And another buried in bed beside a fat president on his side in a blue suit lying awake presumably red tie (like mischief's masquerade stockings) with his back in my face another seam long and straining to contain and a courtesan bedpan cabinet behind us attentively bedside lips painted and pursed with legs crossed and pens waiting as if he ever had anything to say with his back to us lying awake on his side in bed under scrutiny just stay still as the pillow and sheets only a heap of pillows and sheets under threat of him rolling over on me (which he did) and pulling my hair
And another the fat president asleep in his stuffed seat at the movies head propped on his hand now closed jowls pressed flat flesh spilt over his knuckles like a freezeframe punch in the head unamused, but for him bored for he must've seen it a million times or he didn't get it again there the hostage bedside corps presumably keeping him notes scattered in the other rows legs crossed in thin dresses as if to make the theatre seem full none adjacent as lovers and no popcorn on the floor which is how I knew I was in a dream not home anymore please send usher with empty sweep broom me a floorlit exfil
The hardest thing about such sleep and the darnedest I think is in the cheery morning my wife pours coffee into my black cup usually reserved for Mondays but I can't see her because I have to go type something up behind me she walks along with more coffee or a second hug or another good morning but excused I must run I have to dredge something up I must provide cover (else sacrifice the lover)
Photo by Patrick Ho on Unsplash