I never had the dream again, the one where we were in the bath together
because in the dream, you never washed my hair the way I needed you to
and even though we smoked from the same cigarette, my hair still smelled
like matted hair might smell.
If I needed you to rinse it out with soft hands, veiny hands, fragile hands, would you
or doesn’t our contract extend that far?
Could you make it smell like citrus and honey or
is it easier for you this way, the broken way?

If I hand you my Lacrimosa do I get to keep you here
if the contents evaporate does it mean you have to leave
because I’ve got more stored up if that’s the way you need it
Give me something to talk about and I’ll give you something I’ll weep about
I wandered forever and found my way back but you weren’t there
and the front door was open but you were on the phone, weren’t you
and you said, “just a minute,” and I took it to mean, “go away.”

I tied my fears around the brick and threw it through your window
just to pique your interest
the content was good, the technique was lacking
the throw was slightly off and landed where you weren’t.
I told you, “I’m afraid I’m afraid I’m afraid,” and you couldn’t soothe it
but you pretended to, like handing me a torch when I tell you
I’m afraid of the dark, but not coming into the dark room with the torch
and with me, so I changed the topic, changed the fears,
even changed the brick, and it worked for a while until
I was the one who had to leave and throw a brick
through my own window
and my little glass bottle overflowed
and never evaporated again.


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