In Dreams
By Dymphna


She appears in my dreams.
She's wearing jeans and a t-shirt and that black leather jacket she picked up somewhere, her brown hair ruffled by the wind, the helmet sitting on her hip, cradled in her hand, and she's laughing, happy to be away from the office, away from it all....
She's wearing a simple black skirt and white blouse, open to reveal her ivory lace bra, her hair spread out all over the desk, her hands scrabbling at papers as I kneel between her legs, my head underneath that simple black linen skirt, my hands sliding up her thighs...
She's wearing a black dress shot through with silver sparkles, diamonds in her ears, red lipstick and elegance, dignified elegance, like a thoroughbred filly, and she's sitting at a table, a fine china doll to match the fine china dinnerware, and I'm scruffy, I'm roughened, weather-beaten, shabby compared to her....
She's standing in the court room, fire in her eyes, as she does a cross examination, notes in her hand, her mind moving faster and faster around the defendant, proving him wrong, proving us right, lacing everything together in a tighter and tighter web. A warrior goddess, fighting for everything, for everyone, for the state...
She's wearing a top hat and tails, crooning a song I heard only a few times on my father's old record he brought back from the war...She's singing in German, her long legs crossed in front of me, fishnet stockings sliding against silky smooth skin....
She's wearing nothing at all, just a smile and a string of pearls, standing in my bedroom doorway, with a glass of champagne in her hand, celebrating a victory, yet another victory, a small one, sure, but she was still there with the champagne and that slow sexy smile that made me harder than I've been in years...
She's on the slab in the coroner's office, cold and pale, her features even sharper, even more poignant in death. I reach down and stroke her cheek. It's so cold...her flesh is cold and empty and there's nothing...
I wake up. And I'm so alone.

end


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