The Wizard
A few months ago, I had a dream of The Wizard coming to visit me in my bedroom. Recently, I have rediscovered this premonition hidden in my notes app.
The Wizard throws a party in my house.
It spills out onto the lawn where the wet dewy grass is illuminated under the breast of the full moon. Someone plays the stand-up bass and laughter rings along the wood paneled walls.
He pads up to my bedroom where I am laid, lavishly, amongst my pillows. Content.
I hear him on the steps before I can see a hint of a mischievous grin peeking out from long hair and the curl of a mustache.
“Oh, baby.” He cooed as he crawled into my bed and buried his nose into my neck. “I’ve missed you.”
“I’m sorry I left the party,” I said but I didn’t feel terribly so. The party still thumped beneath me and I got to enjoy the festivities and music from the comfort of my bed.
The best thing of all was that The Wizard came to see me.
His lips wrapped around mine and it reminded me of the dragon tail pottery he gave me once.
How the curved tail fit around my finger like it was made for me.
It reminded me of the exchanges of astrological insight and dream premonitions.
The crumbs of my apple pie on the corner of his lips.
Brushing elbows at The Cave on a sweaty Monday night over the frayed notes of an out-of-tune piano.
Coupled by his voice over the phone and a warm hug that smelled like smoke and cinnamon.
The Wizard takes me slowly and intimately.
Opens me up tenderly, like a flower, or that one magic trick where they pull the handkerchief from their sleeve, and they just keep coming, and coming and coming and coming.
When I woke up, there was no party downstairs.
The Wizard had gone back to Chicago.
My house was so quiet that there was not even the clinking nor the shuffling of a ghost passing through.