Tomorrow

You ask what I imagine 

and I say 

nothing the Church would approve of 

when I think of you

when I let my mind

caress the places I think you may be 

and the fingers of my imagination 

unzip the fleece sweater 

starting from your throat

and working my way down.

We own our fantasies 

and others may not have dominion

over the recesses 

of our secret worlds

where we travel in solitude

I can walk uninvited, naked,

and invisible into any house

and lie down on the carpet 

in front of the fire

and who can say 

which is the real house

and which is the real fire

from inside the looking glass

of the mind 

half-filled 

with the recklessness of dreams.

Now that you have seen 

a vision know

that the kaleidoscope shifts

and tomorrow another dream

will spill from my subconscious 

unspooling like warmed honey

and scented like a bed of thyme

where our bodies have crushed 

the green sprigs and their pale flowers 

against the sun-baked earth

and the next day 

another world

blooming under my hand

that the infinity of stories 

I can tell to my heart 

may go on and on.