Apartment

My eyes don’t lie, and they say
you’ve never been here before
but my vision feels you all around me
all the time, like you live inside
me everywhere I go these days
a passenger I will never drop
off my couch.

I smell memories of sex
that never occurred here
or did we, did you come
out of my mind while I slept
and have your way
with me on top?

My ears pick up the echo
of a scream, an argument we had
once, but never really, about me
wanting you to leave
with me for the other
place where we do all things easy
every night, where we love without
any ties, where we cry only together
for sad films.

My fingers find you on me
when I wake from short naps
and your skin presses me
down into my sheets of sweat
so thick as you do me
in waves of slow then fast
in stages of love and regret
in licks of no then yes
and you never stop me
when I pull you down
with me into the salt water
where we can’t drink at all
but live forever submerged
into one thing found
when the water finally dries
all the way out and our love
is a mystery for archaeologists
to decipher.


*This poem was in my head one night after a nap on my couch where I most likely drooled all over myself and was happy I did. One of the small pleasures in life is occasionally wiping that drool stain off your cheek when you wake up. It makes you feel like you accomplished something while you were in dreamland.

“Apartment” was published by Dead Flowers: A Poetry Rag in Vol. 1, No. 2.

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