It’s been a few years (more than a few)
And every time I dream of you it’s like
A dare to keep giving a shit. From whom?
I don’t know but it’s there nonetheless.
This dare. Hanging and lit from above
In the forever bedroom of my mind.
It promises extended opportunities,
Years even, decades, when we still
Knew each other intimately, and
Nothing had changed, just my hair
Was gone and your skin was drawn
But otherwise the same. This dare.
It really has an imagination. And
A very long memory. And it beads
My flesh every time with sweat and
Regrets and longing and sadness. It
Dares me to remember you, to hold you
Secret somehow, as if it wasn’t already
Known: you’re still nestled away, hidden,
In the forever bedroom of my life.