I would have my past lovers buried in a cemetary upon the headstones our love stories would be engraved perhaps brief, perhaps long but always stings in my heart, handprints on my flesh
and as i wander across the loose, damp dirt as a sliver of the moon peeks out from behind the thick, dark clouds i pray that not one of them would suddenly come to life and grab me by the ankle
but it sometimes happens and my mind's eye they look exactly as i froze them sometimes, i wonder how they look like now alive, in another woman's arms.
Cityscapes, landscapes, buildings, places they would be halocast across a huge empty room fenced up as individual displays protected by red velvet queue posts
i would walk around each display my feet cold on the hard, concrete floor but they remain one-dimensional i can't go back now to exactly how they were to see each again in an angle i never saw
Sometimes my friends drop by, and as we revisit the person and the memory they add writings upon the headstones and angles to each scene, put up new displays
and we always work on our secret garden huge acres tucked away in a safe part of the museum a river runs through it giving it life flowering green vines on the pavilion where we gather my secret spot where i hide away in comfort.
Hmm. I wonder as I wander.
Dreamt on Tuesday, December 12, 2006; 6:32 PM
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