Produce It

produce it

i thought for a moment
that it was Her
affectionately stroking my kneecap
from underneath the covers
i thought, as is a habit
incorrectly
turns out it was just the cat
caught in the middle of some
dream of which i’ll never know
the details
hyrogiphicaly stretching

while She remained sleeping
on the further most side of the futon
Her pretty hair spilled out across the pillow
like an undecided flower garden
says She might leave me
that she’s not completely sure
of course
but She might not love me anymore
She told me this a few days ago
She was awake at the time
and cutting pictures out of a magazine
i wonder if She feels differently when sleeping
no way of knowing really

so i go back to doing what i was doing
before i was distracted by the mistaken
attempts towards affection

i go back to reading
Hunted Past Reason by flashlight
and listen to the pretty sounds
that She makes when She’s dreaming
since knowing Her i’ve developed
a strange fetish for snoring
not general snoring
Her snoring exclusively
i’m so goddamned doomed it isn’t funny

“You’d miss me if i were gone”
i told Her one night before She fell asleep
She laughed and said “maybe”
but fuck that
i may be tough to live with
but i am nothing if not missable
it’s one of those things i’m accidentally good at
like some bastards can juggle
and others know how to design fancy airplanes
or come in second at the U.S. Open
i happen to be extremely missable
a pointless skill for sure
but a skill goddamn it non the less
one which i thought She’d never
find Herself aquainted with
but what the fuck do i know?
apparently in regards to making
Her happy, not much

(from my book I See you, Lewis. Baobob Tree Press)