Tastes (Dreaming)

i went for years without dreaming, or at least so i thought. i wake up with tastes, so simple that i'd forgotten. the whisper of the rain, weaves a web around my soul. and there are voices in the shadows, shadows that build small fires. perhaps prayer is a form of memory, a language we no longer understand. and the body, a cage, or just a shell, for a bird with broken wings! then love, the body plowed, the spirit bursts in bloom. i taste like grapes, too long fermented... you taste like ashes, and me!