It sneaks up on me, some connection
Between my sleeping subconscious
And the universe itself.
I have this dream, this nightmare, this reality:

Her thin limbs entangled with his.
Her mousy hair shimmering in the morning sun;
(I’ve dyed the same colour from mine for years,
But on her, he finds it endearing.)
He kisses her.
It is not memorable,
But everyone remembers.
She is his little secret.
The poems become hers.
I find no liberation from my love for him;
He grants me no such release.
I keep holding on to the thought, the fantasy,
While she holds his body against hers,
Naked and fleshy and warm.
It is her name he whispers.

I wake up in a cold sweat,
And I feel like vomiting.