A second cup of coffee at 3:28pm:

the morning hazy with vague unease,

I light a candle, read a book,

till the first cup of coffee fails to stifle my restlessness

and I drift off to sleep again.

I conjure you in a vision

athough as usual I mix your face, your body, your scent

with others.

I half-wake and see my tattoo

and I ask my bow and arrow, as if it were sentient,

to point the way to you, to tell me who you are, to settle on a form,

and this time, I hit my mark.

I will us together,

we make love with a wildness I’ve never felt

the scene goes on for hours, it seems,

with no interruptions, we are finally free.

But eventually, even my dream self and yours

needs a nap, we’ve worn each other out,

so I will myself to wake

to brew that second cup for me,

the first for you.

But as my mind and body recognize this dominant reality

I realize that you aren’t here.

Saddened and shocked,

I realize that the you my arrow struck

was not the you I thought you would be,

not after all this time, this distance

the wall I erected had come tumbling down

the fortress and its foundation destroyed,

a joint effort that existed only in a hallucination.

As I drink that second cup

I realize how terribly I miss you

And how there is nothing I can do in this world

to make that delusion tangible.

As the caffeine takes hold

and your first cup grows cold,

I ask myself

If it was you I’ve wanted

all this time

or the mere idea of you.

But right now

unable to sleep again,

lonely and aching for the touch I felt in the fantasy,

knowing that I can’t feel you for real

I’d take either version of you

in another dream,

if I could only sleep my life away.

 

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