Afternoons are for self-indulgence.
All other pursuits are inadvisable
(they usually end in tears,
or never get off the ground).
Lethargy and sleepiness prevail.

But if you give in to the whims
of the subconscious,
take off all your clothes
and get back into bed,
stare at the branches moving gently
     outside your window,
Then, then all the magic of
     the universe is at your disposal.
The journey has just begun
into a clover leaf or out
  to the far reaches of the
   galaxy and beyond.
To dream in the afternoon
  is the utmost pleasure.

Junebug June,
gazing at the moon.
Your tail flicks in time
to a silent tune
the stars gently croon.

June Junebug,
the twinkling stars tug
at the strings of your heart
as you gaze in a trance
at the stars in their dance.

Junebug dear,
the night sky so clear,
the melody the moon
whispers in your ear
only you can hear.

It begins as a tingling in my legs,
unpleasant like something squirmy trying to get out, something huger than my skin, wriggling, bursting to get free.

Without ceremony it spreads, bulging in my chest, prickles poking through my shoulder blades. Suppressing only makes it worse, I need to run, to fly, to breathe-

"What's wrong?" you ask.

I cannot answer, it is taking all my
willpower not to scream, or punch an
innocent bystander. Would I? Whether I would or not I've never found out,

I just leave.

"I love you," you say. I still cannot reply, the tears have been melting my face, but now they trickle down shiny scales.

External sensations have become
insensible, overpowered by the
overwhelming rage of barely managed fire within. The sharpness of my teeth meets an unfeeling leathery lip.

I go downstairs and leave the building. I don’t know if I remembered my keys.

I run
just as reptilian wings free themselves from my back, they flutter, stretch out wide at last.

I'm free,

but I still want this thing inside me, this thing that now is me, to leave. I am ashamed of it, afraid of its newness and my inability to control it.

It's happier now--
in the open air where it can thrash about without restraint. I let it, no longer worried it will lash out at something or someone breakable.

We fly far and long, my arms and lungs ache, but still the fire burns in my whole body waiting to be unleashed.

We soar, sore and angry until suddenly I'm alone again.

I look down but I don't need to look to know the scales are gone. My lip feels soft again beneath my rounded teeth. The wings still flap but gentler now, quietly bringing me back to the ground then softly folding and
painlessly absorbing back into my
shoulders.

I head home.

I wander our old lives, I take the train I always took to see you, I pass the pancake place we never went because it was always too busy at brunch time,
and the teriyaki place we went instead that was surprisingly good considering it's emptiness.

I see the Kia dealership I waited in front of, not knowing you were waiting for me a block away on a charming main street.

I see the Mexican treats place where we got deliciously odd flavored paletas, and the pirate golf where we ate mediocre pizza and giggled at cheesy glow-in-the-dark pirates.

But you are not here. You do not greet me at the transit center.

While I revisit old memories, you are exploring our future. You are walking streets we may walk together. Perhaps you are passing restaurants that will become our favorites, a park where a momentous decision will be made, the locations of disappointments and joys
yet to come.

Despite the traffic and obvious signs of habitation surrounding me, this place is a ghost town to me.
It's not for me anymore.

My present is a limbo between nostalgia and anticipation. My future is with you. I'll join you soon.