You sleep and I'll tie the noose.
Among this river of sheets, flesh succeeds the banks.
your flesh, it wraps around me.
Every night I sleep encased in your cells. I
walk motionless around your slumber to burn an ember ed edge
that is already burnt from some nights past, and
I look for clues.
And when I look back at you in that latent slumber,
in a rush of woven terry cloth, with your
eyes fluttering in in some far away place, I think
if Darwin is right, you are the most beautiful fish.

I'm glad it was her not you tonight.
I am sure the speaking of literature and film
would have gone differently if it had been
you in my space.
Looking at my things and analyzing my habits
making assessments of my mannerisms.
If it had been you, I'm sure
I may have done something incautious and perhaps
callous,
the kind of thing you come from dreams saying
perhaps the invitation should
have been lost on
maybes and could have beens.
I suppose it's unkind to think,
If one or the other just did not exist
it would make this plight much different
not better
just different.