Dying Dream

I lay sweating and my breath was ragged ... seeming torn in and out of my lungs. The act of dreamed sex having flexed every muscle of my body until they screamed for more oxygen. I was staring at the covering of my wagon for a long time before I saw it. I was drenched in sweat. The dream had been intense and it left me sick with the strength of it. I rolled over and got my knees under me and I just stayed there for several moments with my forehead pressed against the cool planks of the flooring.

Reality.

I called it forth like a Spex demanding vision from mist. I finally straitened enough to allow my lungs to fill more with air and raked fingers back through my soaked hair. I slowly leaned my head back and clenched my fists and yelled. The sound of my own voice seemed to dispel the last of the reverie mists.

Slowly my heart's beat returned to normal.

Slowly the sweat cooled and dried upon my body. Slowly the darkness of my gaze found the ability to focus.

Slowly ... my synapses left off the vision of her.