Bad Dream

By Bud Koenemund

For "Her."

Turning toward me, a whisper escapes your
Lips: "I love you" lingers despite the roar
Of wind whipping through obsidian hair.
Your skin, like velvet, glows in sun-warmed air,
And I see my smile reflected in
The sunglasses obscuring your brown eyes.
I reach to touch the hand of my soul's twin,
Unaware this is but slumber's disguise;
Happiness that cannot survive waking –
A bitter dawn after this dream's sweet peak.
I grasp in vain at dying night, aching
To embrace once more the passion I seek.
   I find contentment only lost in sleep,
   For when roused, mem'ry haunts and madness creeps.

Of Ice Cream, Laughter, and "Shakespeare in Love"

A fantasy in sonnet form.

For Kristen Brownell.

Fingers trace over secret paths explored –
Each curve and cleft now mapped in memory.
Kisses and whispers linger on lips, as your
Scent drifts on an air of avidity;
With the gravity of a dying sun
We pull together, two bodies aflame;
Our flesh – now fire and fuel – joins as one,
Surrendering to this lust without shame;
Fresh hunger drives us. We consume the world,
Yet desire more as the appetite seems
To increase; even while pleasures unfurl –
Pushing our passion to the verge of dream.
This madness grows with every ragged breath,
‘Til we are enskied by our little deaths.