Spells
We touch with words, written, black on white
caressing one another gently, yet fiercely
And my soul yearns across the miles
as my body yearns across the data lines
Yet my mind knows the folly of this
and writhes under it's logical seeming
tearing at the fabric of my dreams, adrift
into my nights, waking me hotly panting
Your touch still upon my imaginings
running through me
like warm water
dripping lightly
And I am lost
wandering
in a brightly lit dreamscape
full of your soul
Ah, beloved, what spell have we cast
and can the force of our feelings
really outshine the bright light of reality
when at last it deigns to let us in
What my soul knows and what my head
perceives sometimes conflict and doing so
cause me to question my very existance
and yet, strangely, not your own
And so, with a smile upon my contenance
do I greet each day's dreaming
and abide by that which I know is true
that I love you
©1996 Quelonzia/Terry Dean
