African Drum

I clutch my necklace because it’s close to my heart.

It’s an excuse to hold my hand there, to hold my chest together.

My breathing becomes irregular; I can’t explain the rhythm it’s taking on.

My chest feels like it could explode and I just keep clutching my necklace

Until my fingers go numb and my sternum feels fractured.

My muscles tense and release, they tense and release over and over again.

My heart beats on like an African drum and I can feel it in my veins—

I can feel you in my veins.

This disembodied feeling spreads like a wildfire through my blood

And it thickens like slow moving molasses.

I don’t understand, though.

I feel like my blood is on fire, but yet I feel cold and distanced.

I close my eyes and concentrate on my breathing.

 Deep breaths in, hold for three painfully long seconds, slowly exhale, repeat, repeat, and repeat.

My eyes, so weary, fall back into my mind

Where visions of green pastures, sundresses and dandelion wishes exist.

I swear I never want to wake from this dream where everything is wonderful and I feel so alive.

One whisper from your lips reassures my blessed existence that the world is okay and everything isn’t a dream.

Every sensation, every dandelion wish is real.

I open my eyes and expect to see the same dark room I always find myself in,

But I open my eyes and see your beautiful, peaceful face pressed up against your pillow.

You’re off in a dream somewhere and I wish I could be there with you,

But being here with you is more than my imagination could ever conjure.

Reaching out with my hand I reassure myself that I’m not dreaming;

I press the back of my hand on your cheek and feel warm skin, your blood flowing beneath my hand.

Oh blessed reality, when did you become more enchanting than my dreams?

Will dreams never satisfy my hungry soul again?

-CateAnne