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.