I wake up breathing hard, and there is sweat
there in the hollow of my back. The kiss
left me so taut. I need to take a piss
but still I throb. Of course I will forget

all details of the woman in my dream.
I know what she was like – they’re all the same
too young crazy or beautiful. Their name
may vary – not the way their hair would gleam

seen on a pillow. Women who are real
quite as impossible. Love’s the mistake
that makes us fools, the hard thing that we break
our sense of self upon. I want to feel

that gorgeous pain, yet most affairs I’ve had
balanced delight with going almost mad.


About rozkaveney

Middleaged, trans, novelist, poet, activist
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