Busy With A Dream. Poem by Kim Dang

A pulsating deep sleep, I'm busy with a dream.
Held back by the weight of my backpack, by my skin's seams
Somewhere two valleys below, past a small molehill, lies my heartbeat, thumping
To a combination of active callings, like confident angels, they sing.
Doesn't this orchestra sound lovely, better than midnight violin-like,
violently crossing cricket wings?

The effect of an opium trip, your nerves calmed to one hopeless mass addiction
I'll help you get wasted, I've bottled up these pheromones; go on and taste it.
Engulfed in sensual twilight beauty, the stars I swear right now they hear me
Who said traveling this far, this hard, could be so easy?

Tickled pink by dark green foilage, my naked skin I've gone and spoiled it.
Suddenly hidden from daylight's intentions, we escape dawn's usual intervention
To bottle up this moment as I've done my pheromones. So even with me gone, you're not alone.
Enjoying frozen time, like Christmas rhymes, it's turned this festive, whats yours and mine.

Ruffled hair and pinched eye lids, still crusty with morning flakes
Rolling around in big T shirts with no dividing territories - this bed
Bodily contours left imprints lasting for minutes on end, each moment taken and shed
Scents intermingling, doing body shots without such glasses on hand
Resisting the increasing volume of screaming alarm clocks, instead let's remain, shall we, in wonderland?