Punching goddess

Describing things I think are real.

Bright eyes.

Orange and blue sky crossed slowly by gray, lumbering low clouds.

Dog smell, wet from the harbor.

Seeing with open eyes.

What would my blank walls look like with the thoughts of another?

Where would the portal door open to?

Why, the same Earth, of course.

A bathroom with another naked body in it.

Sheets filled with a counter-intensity.

The known feel of that sloped hip.

A hand clenched in yes, fingers and knuckles crossed by agreement.

A glancing drag of foot on foot.

A sun waiting patiently beyond blackout curtains.

A dream blending into the bigger dream, each one coming into its own.

Unfolding of the dull and divine.

The thrilling and ordinary.

The everyday goddess always punching her way into the room.