I dreamt of a lover
He guided me into his bed chamber
–a softly lit private place, darkened hues of red, blue, brown, and amber, like an uncurtained scene in a Rembrandt piece–
talking all the while
pointing to this and that
he storied the room,
the meaning behind the objects.
that fashioned his identity,
artifacts reflecting values, memories, masculine ideals, spiritual longings…
Watching as I viewed, he smiled his delight in my attentive response.
I suddenly felt sleepy, as though drunk with ageless wine,
and lay down on the bed–
his words floating,
closing me in,
enfolded by a blanket of self-expression–
My lids so heavy, I surrendered to their gravity.
The air, too, was warm and sweetly scented.
Safety here, a longing for rest and peace, for such a place as this.
Alerted by his pause, an invitation to weave myself into his story,
I offered my heartfelt response, “You’re beautiful.”
Relief and gratitude softened his face, fears evaporated through acceptance.
For I had recognized, respected, valued, and understood
the sacredness of this space–his inner sanctum
and my sanctuary.
Psalm 61: 4
Let me live forever in your sanctuary, safe beneath the shelter of your wings!