i want nothing more to know until the knowing
comes knocking. the drapes are drawn, the door is shut, i am
not home. longing is so sweet when first she enters, with a dream so
soft in it’s emptiness. she never mentions just how
hollow it can feel when she is gone in the morning, when
she leaves your hands weakened with the weight of
what you asked for.
what terror—this dream is alive and
breathing, waking me in the middle of the night
wanting. she never mentioned how its eyes would be so
tender looking up at me, saying ‘what now? what now?’ i never
pictured it quite this shape, this texture, never knew a dream could
be so heavy so warm so hungry.
i don’t know what to feed it. i
cradle it to sleep so in the respite i will have my own
chance to weep.
i do not know why i am weeping.
it is not the same reason why i wept before.
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