i no longer dream, i weep.
she comes to me in the night, she stands rigid, afraid. she no longer knows how to look at me. sometimes.
she says, sometimes i breathe and i can almost smell you, the way you would when you came out of the shower, clean and freshly born and i’d want nothing but to feel that coolness, to feel clean and new in your arms.
and i interrupt her, but i’m not clean anymore, right? what’s your fucking point? i crush the pencil in my hand, rip out another another page.
no, she says, you are not clean. she touches my brow, you’re drowning and i cannot find you. she kisses my temple, looks me in the eye. i will not.