She is a myth I plunge into in my dreams, reimagining all
those dark corners where I may have her in every way possible, going deep as if
she was a gold mine and I need to find the wealthy vein I know exists inside,
beyond her amazing eyes, richer even than her puckered lips, softer than the hot
melted metal that curls around me with each plunge.
She is a myth I make love with every time I close my eyes,
Athenia on the edge of consciousness, I reinvent nightly and wake in the
morning without, the dream lingering into waking so as to need me to stroke
back to sleep, to keep it from protruding into my daily life, treasured for
when I dream again, the myth I have over and over, again and again.
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