Albino Wolves

Had a lucid dream of you recently,
about five nights ago.

The insanity of it,
was that I know you were really present.
Your distinctive energy was as about as solid as that brick wall over there.
Since this was an actual happenstance, I'll spare everyone the brickabrack language that in certain circles, I'm no doubt notorious for.
I think I said your name in my sleep,
your very real arrival in my slumber had made me so incredulous...
Unexpectedly we ran into each other, shopping at the grocery store, in the vegetable produce section.
You still had a receding hairline but had
let it grow to your shoulders, tying it, only half back, in an elastic ponytail holder.
You were dressed like a drug dealer from "The Wire", you know, someone who has a surplus of money but doesn't really know expensive velvetine jump suits with correlating sweat-catching headbands displease Old Money.

But there you were.

Somewhere in my dream, somewhere in the future, where at first, I didn't completely recognize you.  So I asked for clarification.  I asked just your name, in a question.

You looked up, then after our eyes met, both of ours widened in absolute knowledge.

We laughed and made stupid small talk, that consisted of me making fun of your getup.  You mutter something about how nowadays you like to be comfortable.  Then for reasons that only are in dreams, you insist upon giving me $5.00 for some type of compensation.

I refuse your flaccid green paper.

Yet you insist.

It got comical.

Then you leave sulking away like an albino wolf.  Mistakenly identitfied as a sheep, so very often, that your stride is perpetually asshurt over a God that over looked an entire lifetime of miscommunications and mishaps because His design is supposed to be immaculate.  Lamely waving with your right hand, looking over your left shoulder, carrying a plastic basket.

I know how that feels, that type of asshurt, so maybe that's why we were so intensely connected. 

Both misunderstood poets.  Taken granted due to skins.

In this dream, you eventually came to my home, forcefully insisting I take this damn $5.00.

"No!  Get out of here!  How the hell do you know where I live?"

In this second part, I hadn't been so nice in the query of your name and if it was really you.

My dude was pretty pissed about your arrival and proclamation of charity and promptly kicked you out.

But after five minutes, you knocked on the door...

...and just left that $5.00 on my doorstep.

So now, as I vainly endeavor to write this, my eyes well-up mainly because maybe that's all love really is. 

A random gift of $5.00 on your doorstep.  Even if you don't want it.