these are my dreams of my future, and i want it to be now. i want it soon. please? i could cry. i will put music on that is emotionally stimulating and pleasing to my eardrum and then i will write of my eyesore dreams...

okay, fitzgerald. cole. davis. let's rock it with the dream scene.

there are spots on the shower curtain from left over sex, but i don't care because he is gone to work and he will be back at night, and when he is back- well, i don't care then. leave it for sundays. dancing in the kitchen with the lights off and the candles burning- dinner's burning! go to the wall to find the switch and the lights won't turn on! oh no! we laugh and laugh and the fire alarm rinnnnnnngggss. our lasanga has fried to a crisp! we take out our masterpiece and we throw it over the balcony and it seems mister man who lives lonely downstairs was out in his robe enjoying a cool night's cigar. steamy italian over his bald head! he looks up to scold us kids, but we twirl back into our hideaway and turn up sinatra. he takes me into his arms and we dance and kick he furniture and rug out of the way and we are on broadway!! I'VE GOT YOU UNDER MY SKIN! ahhhhhhh. we play truth or dare, i comb his hair and trim it up. he rubs my feet and draws a bath. i get the candles out of our overdone and smokey kitchen and place them around the tub. he strips slowly and sinatra still sings and i can see a little something something! i get so so aroused, and we step into the seemingly boiling bath and drop together like falling wax into a palm made of history and dreams... brave. what a comfortable and persistant beating heart he has, i can feel it on my left shoulder blade as i seep into sandman land and we nap in the bath until we are prunes and he looks like ferris bueller with the mohawk doo! we splash and bubble and frenzy and kiss and we want to make love. friends call us late at night. ((meet us at the rooftop! johnny got a raise! celebrate!)) we want a quickie, but our friends have begged, so we dress very scantilly- that way, when we come back, there won't be any waiting, and we share some champagne. the men play tambourines and guitars and us girls dance with our heeled legs held high and we prance like new years... then i tilt my head up and notice the steel gaze of the half cut moon longing at me and i escape from my life on the rooftop of lovers and friends and celebrations... i share instant anticipation with the sky and the stars are in full bloom and sinatra comes back into my heart, louder and stronger, and i sweat when the stars begin falling one by one, as if being poked out of a black shiny wall by a child with skinny fingers and new stars are replaced by this child's mother... ahhh... the moon and i make love and smother each other... then it STOPS! and i am in loving embrace with my child lover. he is drunken and i help him down the fire escape and we tangle in the window outside of our bedroom; we roll onto the bed. 'i'm you're big and brave and handsome romeo...'

i tell him.., 'when you came into my view... i i i i .. i have a crush on you!' and we wanted to make love, but he is tired, so i let him fall asleep. the candles are about to dwindle, i think. i pour some bailey's into a mug of coffee and gently relax and let the evening set into my skin and back out of me silently, along with my beautiful lover's in and out breaths of night's rest in the next room, and i watch old films like casablanca and the sound of music with my cat and my coffee and a pack of cigarettes... i drift off into a sleep of dreams and whimsy, but mostly this nonhesitant glow of love and peace and perfection, and this is what i have always wanted...