Tabaco y Chanel

It was a dream--that much was clear. A litte house right on the sand, facing a beach. A porch walled in but open to the outside, with wide, arched openings for windows. Stucco. Red clay tiles. Tacky, yellow, sticky patio furniture with faded flowers. Next to the door, a chair. Sitting on the floor, leaning on the chair, a man, reading from a book of poems I can hear, but do not understand. His voice is warm, familiar, comforting and loving, but I cannot understand the words it forms. His legs are almost stretched--not quite. I lie perpendicular to him, my head resting on his lap. The warm and salty air mixes with the sweet smell of his skin. The tender music of the sea almost at rest to mark the rhythm of his voice. It is so warm, familiar, comforting and loving. Beyond the stucco arches, a bright blue sky hides behind playful cotton balls. "where aleph, the sacred river ran, through caverns measureless to man, down to a sunless sea..." but i cannot understand the words he says.