Sometimes poetry has a strange story

A prophet who knows the language of dreams

led me in this desert

I dreamed last night

Tense and tired in the desert

found you sleeping Under an orange tree

I was thirsty.

your body, like a water spring, pulled me to yours,

I started kissing you.

With every single kiss, you put a drop of water in my mouth

who Are you?

I want you to hear the sound of my kiss.

I want you awake

sleeping beauty

You cupped your hand so that a little fish swim in it?

Or butterflies dance on it,

and A thirsty bird comes and drinks as if she were drinking from the lake.

Who are you?

Waiting for me Under the shade of this tree,

with every breath, You pour a drop of wine into the air.

Where did the Gold prospectors go? In which direction?

Did they leave you behind?

When do they go to Denver?

When they passed by,

did they see you? Or does the wine in the air make them drunk?

You are left behind; they can't see anything.

A ladybird told me that with the smell of wine in the air, Gold prospectors left everything to reach the girls waiting for them at the gate of the cities.

They finally understood they could dance without gold.

Sleeping Beauty, when do you wake up?

With How many thousand kisses?

Do you know such a long way I came?

Do you know how far I have come? Do you know where Shiraz is?

I have come a long and hard way; sleeping Beauty

the prophet told me if I kissed you, you would awake

You don’t want to wake up?

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Source: Substack