the lost man chronicles
63. what I would have given
She was sleepy today. So, when I got up and made my way back to the corporate hive I came alive as I witnessed her early morning dreams reflecting a field of purity in pink across a dark baby blue sky.
On the ride in she somnolently spread her waking thoughts across the horizon and I was made a better man for it. Looking about me, a dozen others seemed not to notice, for they were either still in slumber or had become one monotone print with their paper.
I wanted to gasp aloud to convey my awe at the empowering display of this dawn. Everyone else seemed to yawn ennui in response, as if they had seen it all before.
But I suspected otherwise, or rather, wisely knew differently.
The cityscape itself was a silhouette lithely painted over with light violet and streaks of rouge. A few grey clouds outlined in blue hung lingering over the Hudson. And in contrast to the uneven swath of nebulous furls sweeping all of Manhattan, these puffs of idle smoke seemed suspended as if by magic.
What I would have given to be making love at that moment out amidst a field of wild daisies moist with dew, looking up, on the rare occasions that my eyes burst open, to behold the majesty of you my lover, undulating against this splendid morning.
Oh, what I would have given.
lunar spontaneity .62 64. she, her, me