Unconscious

This word now gleans new meaning. It’s the sense of things you know but deny.
Suppressed ideas of yourself doing things you don't display.

Conjuring moments we favour as fantasies, dispelling time we hold as our own
stealing eternity and making it a slave about our goings.
Unconsciousness holds us ransom of the reality we wish, but disown.

This state wore green to give it texture and context within dim lights and tinted glass. Spewing mist and haze in the air, taking senses to another level.

It was not the pure sense of things; its “naturality” couldn't be ignored
its eyes grew fuller and brighter, unintentionally enticing the room
Hugging every sense and thinking gently; mildly coaxing the deeper self.

Scented scarlet lengths took the wind, capturing the willing, the unthought-of...the unheard of...kissing it so softly, so gently as though to gel with the wind forever.

If this feeling were people!
They would be warm and damp...clinging madly to one another
Riding this emotion to a boil
Gripping it with leading tones, in complete disbelief of such a happening; but oh so willing to have it happen again

Its texture became a tone, then a mood...no a symbol.
To go on and on, further and further stopping time with its hands in the 2AM traffic

Unconsciously doing all that was thought, dreamt and imagined.
It was too natural to deny: To real to understand...it just "was"
Moments took the dreamer to the summit. Freeing its gentle vice about its body.
Falling further away from denial, drawing closer to what is now "known" and no longer "Unconscious"