THIS IS A POEM ABOUT FANTASIES 7.16.17

7.16.17

You are in the other room

as I write this. I promised

I’d be back soon

and we’d put on a movie

to fall asleep to, but what

are promises but flaccid

dicks, potentially wonderful

and functionally useless?

We both know I’ll be back,

don’t worry love. But when

I’m in the other room

something mystifying happens.

I think about never going back to you,

draining myself of life some way,

and you finding me

in the middle of the night,

when I haven’t come to bed yet

and you’re concerned.

You call the two syllables of my name

and your heart drops when you see

the lights of this room, flickering

like morse code through the darkness.

And there you find me,

lifeless on the floor

in a puddle of liquid,

either my own

or foreign.

You kneel beside my body

and weep into my face,

my prince, you say

my king, my stallion,

what maleficence

has taken you from me,

and how am I to breathe again

without you at my side?

You hold your breath until you die.

We share un-life together.

.

.

These are just fantasies.

Please don’t take them literally.

Don’t judge me based on them, please.

They are nothing more than my stupid heart

missing you the way fishes miss water

when you take them out of it.


Written at 10:59 at night, in my office, in Agoura Hills CA. 

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