A second cup of coffee at 3:28pm:
the morning hazy with vague unease,
I light a candle, read a book,
till the first cup of coffee fails to stifle my restlessness
and I drift off to sleep again.
I conjure you in a vision
athough as usual I mix your face, your body, your scent
with others.
I half-wake and see my tattoo
and I ask my bow and arrow, as if it were sentient,
to point the way to you, to tell me who you are, to settle on a form,
and this time, I hit my mark.
I will us together,
we make love with a wildness I’ve never felt
the scene goes on for hours, it seems,
with no interruptions, we are finally free.
But eventually, even my dream self and yours
needs a nap, we’ve worn each other out,
so I will myself to wake
to brew that second cup for me,
the first for you.
But as my mind and body recognize this dominant reality
I realize that you aren’t here.
Saddened and shocked,
I realize that the you my arrow struck
was not the you I thought you would be,
not after all this time, this distance
the wall I erected had come tumbling down
the fortress and its foundation destroyed,
a joint effort that existed only in a hallucination.
As I drink that second cup
I realize how terribly I miss you
And how there is nothing I can do in this world
to make that delusion tangible.
As the caffeine takes hold
and your first cup grows cold,
I ask myself
If it was you I’ve wanted
all this time
or the mere idea of you.
But right now
unable to sleep again,
lonely and aching for the touch I felt in the fantasy,
knowing that I can’t feel you for real
I’d take either version of you
in another dream,
if I could only sleep my life away.
Miranda Rey 