"the dream" - by pablo picasso
…and he walked towards me surrounded by a mist of sandalwood. Oh, how his smell drove me mad! How his voice penetrated deep inside me seeping in through every pore of my skin echoing inside me making me explode in silent ecstasy. He is perfection itself if I dare say so myself. I always dreamt of a man with a three day old beard, who loves led zeppelin as much as I do and smells of sandalwood… I wish this past paragraph was true… But the truth is that he doesn’t exist. He never did walk towards me. And I never did find him nor hope to. I dream of him often and how we would meet. And how animalistic our passion would be and yet he would be gentle and kind and loving… the perfect man: rough and sweet. A demon in the sack but respectful towards women. An animal and a gentleman. I guess I expect too much from anyone. But I can dream… and this dream is all I have left. But if you do exist… come out, come out where ever you are!
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