.The Dream Women.

Not the women from the dream, but painted around the time of the dream, based on a women I saw on a bicycle who was, frankly; God's own work of art.

This is a poem I wrote based on a dream I had; it's pretty self explanatory once you know that.

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Just a bum on the street,

covered in dirt, with broken feet.

Wheeled by her, through the city of the dead,

until quite randomly a strip tease was had.

Turned out it was thought wrong of this,

not a strip tease at all,

but preparing for a magical song instead.

As all the people vanished,

the streets empty and bare.

Only the gray megalith buildings stood still by us there.

So with skin, radiant as gold,

she did put words to mouth,

and spun something old,

as she gestured towards me, there it was said:

"Our relationship of mystery."

she began to sing,

as her white clothing fluttered to the invisible beat.

Her blond hair moving, like a flower's bloom,

she hypnotized my mind with her voice of The Truth,

along with her subtle movements so elegant and couth,

this women awoke my passions,

in a very gentle move.

She drew me in closer,

this women so dear,

the world's top super model,

she had made this clear.

Closer and closer she pulled me in,

the only people alive in this city of the dead.

A very special moment we got to share there,

that single space, our relationship of mystery,

offering me the grace,

to experience her song,

despite my sad state.