Two nights ago
underneath the filth of hotel sheets and comforter
i craved something unobtainable at the time.
Though I consider myself a master interpreter of desire,
this particular evening the content(s) of my longing escaped me.
Here’s what I did know:
the thing,
located at home had
a grip of sorts on my circadian rhythms,
a knowing of what needed replenishing,
a soothing potential, for nights like these,
an access to things closer to the other bedside
(like the ashtray or t.v. remote)
a freer access to things inside me than anyone else
a future with my face, appearing and reappearing
a sarcasm that doesn’t mind chancing offense for the sake of laughs
a pulse and breath that steal my own when absent.
This afternoon
while scrubbing the bathroom floor
I realized what it was I desired two nights ago.
Not you there, but you here—today—cleaning the kitchen
after a night of gripping, knowing, soothing, accessing,
appearing and reappearing, offending and laughing,
pulsing and breathing.
I missed what we have slipped into: each other.
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