Nuanced Shades

I literally stink at delving into the personal sides of myself where others can see the real me. I don't think that I can actually put pen to paper and let the monster out. Although I believe the liberation would be great for my creativity.

Hmmm! Abstract writing comes naturally to me. I seem to think in tones of the non-representational, non-realistic, non-pictorial aspects of the world around me. Maybe that is why my attempts at writing upon the canvas of the world stage, where other readers will find my work engaging, only appeals to a very select few. Those who are maybe also steeped in the abstractness of our universal bond.

Here I will peek out of my shell and venture in a mild way into the lucid dream realm of existence:

Lucid provocations...

I awakened today in vibrant shades of awesome colors

My body purred, my heart smiled

I stretched my limbs, limber from the antics of dreams fore-night

Slowly turning, my smile fades>>>an empty pillow greets my expectations

Is it imagined, the roar of an engine outside my window-I pretend it's my prince, gassing the chariot while he waits for me

He is way, far down below---I'm six floors up

My lips curled in a sneer, ???????what the holy hell????

Oh F..., for the love of G.., must I always only dream of perfect you

Shadows and nightmares beware...If you awaken a beast...

It will roar mightily!

Did I really just dream the lucid s~~t again.

I plopped back down on the dream-soaked traitorous crumpled devil cradle

I think it smiled<<<an evil smile of satisfaction at my discomfort

Discombobulated disaffiliated disaggregated alterations brought back the curled toed {memoried} nightmare pleasing romp now still playing in my head

Sigh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The intermingling of clandestine desires~~~the kind that tiptoe through moonlit corridors and whisper secrets to the stars. Reality warps and your edges fray as colors bleed into each other like forbidden kisses.

Naughty Awakenings sync with the universe as Venus and Jupiter align in perfect symphony.

In the quiet hours before dawn, when the world still dreams in sepia, I trace the contours of my imagined longing. It’s a map of hidden pathways, a labyrinth of silk and skin.

The sheets cling to my body, woven from the threads of anticipation. My breath, a conspirator, meets the cool air with a shiver, and I wonder if the night itself is watching...blushing.

There’s a mischief in the way your name curls on my tongue, Jupiter in constellation with Aquarius, a secret code whispered to the pillows. I imagine your fingertips*rogue explorers—tracing the universe across my spine, leaving stardust in their wake.

And oh, the moon! She winks, a celestial accomplice, as we unravel our inhibitions. Desire blooms like a forbidden flower, its petals unfurling in the dark. We are thieves of time, stealing moments that taste like sin dipped in dusky Moonwine.

The clock hesitates, its hands caught in a lover’s embrace. Outside, rain taps against the window, a rhythm matching our heartbeat. I wonder if the thunder knows how it echoes our urgency, how it trembles in sync with our hunger.

Lips meet*soft, then urgent... and the room becomes a sanctuary for whispered confessions. We are fugitives from daylight, our bodies conspiring to rewrite the rules of morning.

And when the sun finally stumbles over the horizon, disheveled and curious, we lie tangled in our own mythology. The world awakens, oblivious, while we wear our secrets like silken robes, our skin imprinted with the evidence of our nocturnal transgressions.

I awaken to the empty echoes...colors of gingham plague my perception.

Middle finger to the naughty awakenings, the stolen kisses, the tangled limbs, and the way desire bloomed unapologetically.

Yet we were not!!!

Must I forever be an insomniac to a long past passion, writing long ago stories against the night, could our imagined hearts be conspiring to rewrite the dawn...across time and space.

.........

Dreams and nightmares beware...If you awaken a beast...

Well, hell...May as well make the bed*but fie, beneath the pillow...a rose...a note...

The rose is ruffled*it is a bit crushed...but who cares

"Gone to get coffee and sweets for my sweets"~~~~~~

OH, FOR THE LOVE OF EVERYTHING HOLY!

I am still asleep...I am caught in a time-loop. It was that movie that I watched before falling asleep.

I sleep. I embrace. I awake. I sleep. I embrace...Still I sleep.

Cursed Ode to a private dream where I awaken to find that my perfect romantic tryst had been only a dream, I am disappointed.

The morning light filters through the curtains, soft and golden, as if the universe itself is reluctant to shatter the fragile remnants of our dream. You stir, the warmth of the imagined embrace still lingering on your skin, the echo of whispered promises fading like the last notes of a song you can’t quite remember.

Your eyes flutter open, and reality rushes in*a stark, unyielding contrast to the vivid world you had just inhabited. The room is quiet, too quiet, and the absence of that perfect presence feels like a weight pressing down on your chest. You sit up slowly, the sheets tangled around you, and for a moment, you close your eyes, willing yourself back into the dream. But it’s gone, as dreams always are, leaving only the bittersweet ache of what could have been.

Disappointment settles in, heavy and unwelcome. You glance around the room, searching for some trace, some proof that it wasn’t just a figment of your imagination. But there’s nothing*only the faint scent of your own perfume and the distant hum of the world outside.

And yet, as you rise to face the day, a small, stubborn part of you clings to the dream. It wasn’t real, but it was yours, a fleeting glimpse of something beautiful. Perhaps, you think, it’s a reminder*not of what you’ve lost, but of what you’re capable of finding. The dream may have ended, but the story doesn’t have to.

You take a deep breath, and with it, a quiet resolve. The day awaits, and who knows what it might bring? After all, dreams have a way of inspiring reality, don’t they?

Epilogue

It may be an Aquarian trait, but I know a few of us who scoff at reading, writing or watching other people's romantic carryings on. I never write or read about the in-depth nuances or raunchy deliberations which describe the inner conniption-ed excitement of romantic love. Don't get me wrong, we are not wallflowers, we just prefer to make our own memories in private. I guess that is why TV and Cinema annoy me to the depth of my being, there is just too much of the same old with naked bodies everywhere.

Writing this quasi-romantic dream-state little story made me feel like a prude. It was much raunchier, but I am not yet comfortable enough to go all out naughty...maybe in a more secret setting, I will let my hair down and go wild with overtures of love's secret passions.

But being prudish is not the reason, it just sort of bores me to delve into romantic whimsy, I prefer mysteries, a good detective whodunnit or even a good belly-shaking comedy that is downright fraught with uppity English humor and intelligent jokes that may or may not be aimed at the human anatomy. Maybe I will write that book of (ack) love or something.

Will I then be comfortable wading in way out of my comfort zone, which is my main reason to venture into the realm of forbidden passions and dreams of dark nights of sensory delight...here!!!

I am now imagining, if I went full kilter...What I could actually dream up!!!