Dream 3

I dreamt you were in the passenger seat, knees
jammed against my coffee-spill-stained mahogany dashboard.

animals passionate as we are should not be confined to such small spaces
I could tell exactly where we were driving: southbound on the 101,
by the bridge where they found scattered remains of a woman 
the same year I graduated high school and you blew out 28 candles.

Crow black clothes don’t necessarily suit your hair, you know. I’m just being sour.

You're a coward: can’t even look me in the eye 

We were going again together last night; my dreams abased us both

but only I woke abject, victim to my own absurdist regime

memory apical, mind distressed. 

Its not fair how you look so young, 
my hands lift up, possessed 
to hold you, and I

fold them in my lap.

Your eyes talk so much more than you do, 
joke less and less and less. 

I held your hand while we got dressed and shook the sex smell off with smoke

at work you said you had to go,

staring at my mouth to drive it home. 

Exegsis

You are not my lover, Name omitted.  Even with hands hot and heavy on my hips. I don’t let anyone touch me. You don’t know how I pinch at that skin in anguish because you don't know who I am. You are not my friend, Name omitted, but I felt you in my loins last night. I read your words like rolling up my sleeve for the first time. Everything after was just tapping the syringe. In the morning I learned how to be broken by you, but I still don’t know your middle name.

Stray dogs collide for a moment to smell each other’s groins. I have buried my muzzle in the nape of your corduroy coat. I know your scent: orphan; boy; mutt. I carry it in my gut as dogs do. You sleep in the garbage pile by the railroad. You are not my lover, Name omitted, but your scent sticks to my face. The pound howls out into darkness and we shrug it off. Trouble brews in silver spoons; your absence in my blood.
Still, I let sleeping dogs lie.

Dust // Kismet

Archetype :

When I woke up drooping off your arm, after almost an hour of sleeping, my crotch ached dully and you moaned deeper into a dream. I know what it means when someone says we need to talk, but I let you say it anyway, focused on your hair and how everyone I’ve tried to love has had hair like yours. You stuck a cigarette between your lips and extended your hand above me. I let you pull me outside. We lit up. On exhale I met your eye. “I know what you’re going to say,” I said. Someone joined us. I handed him my cigarette and walked inside. Threw up bile while Katie did her make-up in the mirror beside me.

Defenestration :

You told me in the car. Dealt the blow with padded gloves. I stumbled back a little; I lose my breath sometimes, start taking it in ragged heaves. You touched my breasts, you bastard. I turned the music up so you couldn’t hear my pulse gain pace.

Dream 2

Shifty as you are, your caul

Drying round a neck thicker than my leg.

You’ve become quite the animal,

talons quailing from the softness of my skin

Waking to the sound of your borrowed name,

my vomit is winking beside me, gleaming.

I sit up and you do not admire my shoulder blades,

You sleep. A corpse if not for the golden hair

that shines from your head involuntarily.

Your body is dead weight.

You can’t hear me mumble how badly I want you

so I wink back at my bile and stand up.