life feels most real when it's so dreamlike it can't be remembered

love in a sarcophagus. pleasures of flesh, chemistry, all the dreams we fail to describe. you floated into my waking and grabbed me with something real, greater. feelings intensified beyond tired confines of sleepy days. grabbed me. grabbed you. pushed, pulled, hungered, delved, laid down and listened to black quiet death, pounding in rhythm with the universe. bathed in honey, molten lava, my resolve obligingly finding the drain, sinking away. the sun's splendor, pale ash to the night's magic. on a rickety bed, the physical exchange, bodily merge, power, fire, liquid warmth, symbols of passion explaining the abstract clamouring of our loud invisibles. The banging of pots and pans, slamming of porcelain, shared journey, that's what you were talking about right? the shared journey. i said the moments were best. dynamite could probably solve the quandary of perspectives, collapsing the middle to rubble, drawing together both poles, leaving us, indistinguishable dust, merrily indistinguishable.