woken dreaming

I find that lying with him I can close my eyes to various beautiful scenes. I close my eyes to the wind whipped cliffs of the pacific waves crashing below, my hair blowing wildly. I open to darkness and soft lips, fingers weaving through fingers. I close to find country tables filled with green milk glass ware, stacked bowls and plates as if the pages of Martha Stewart magazine have infiltrated my subconscious. I open to his wide eyes and entangled arms and legs. I close to French fields of lavender, the purple scent bathing the warm countryside. Open again to hands caressing my stomach and hair. Moments of ecstasy intertwined with dreams.