-saint bastet and all that-

I stumble out of bed
after dreaming of you standing
in the doorway of my childhood
bedroom, blue hair to match
blue walls.

It’s May
no April
it’s April

such little things have to be made real
after the alternate reality
of dreaming

that you actually want to see me
after enough months of silence

you were in my dream and you laid down
next to me and I’m pretty sure
my sleeping body shed a tear
with the bliss of your being
alongside mine

when I think about how bad I am at letting go
and how life is a life-
long exercise in letting go
I realize how ill-suited I am for both
or either
whichever

--when will I see you again?
--when you see yourself

Fuck you

That’s what I really wanted to say

I go to the porch to light a wake up cigarette
because who fucking cares if I only live to fifty-four
I’m quite sure I’ve quit quitting
at least I don’t have to worry about you hating
my bad breath

I am alive without you
full of anxious pleasures and pleasurable anxiety
hardness and softness
listening to the space in the air that is your absence
and the birds I could do without
to have you here

When you’re not here someone whose names rhymes with mine
walks back from the porch and says,
hey,
there’s no cat in that bed

And I am reminded
there only was once
and I told her I was in love with her, but she had already fallen asleep.