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A Dream of Clea

April 19, 2011

Woke late today, a sensual, sleepy morning because I woke about 4AM & didn’t get back to sleep until 5:00, but that is the best time for dreams, a wearing tapestry of images I don’t recall, except for one episode, taking me back to Clea, poor, lost, sensual Clea (thus the insistent erection I woke with that refused to go away until I gave it adequate attention).

But, the dream: I am in Clea’s “tree-house” apartment, in the kitchen making lunch. I was’t surprised to be there after all these years, just uncomfortable, wondering why I was there, what she would say to me. I heard her get out of bed, saw her walk to the bathroom. I wondered if she would come & talk to me, what I would say to her? But she came out of the bathroom into the hallway & went the other way without looking at me. I never really saw her, just a part of her shoulder & her back, in that pink flowered nightgown I always think of her in.

On waking, such longing, such desire. All I have is memories, her pictures long gone, as she is.  Did she ever exist, or was it always a dream, a novel I didn’t write?

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From → Clea, Dreams

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