i dreamt of us again.
we were living together and our love
was stronger because it was larger.
i was washing the plates
on which we ate the food that you made.
only smiles, only kisses, until a frown
cracked your face open.
what happened, i asked.
what will i tell him now, you said.
we both sat down, our heads in our hands,
thinking what will we tell him now.
i think of us again, waking.
when i'm sad i think of hugging you.
when i'm horny i think of fucking you.
when i'm happy i think of sharing it with you.
when i think of love i only think of you.
when i see the word "love", in a song or a poem,
your face grows in it, as if the only difference
between that word and your face is time's concealments.
you have become a part of my brain,
somewhere between the prefrontal cortex and the amygdala,
through which all my thoughts have to pass through.
i don't want you to be with him
but i also don't want you to not be with him
because as long as you're with him these thoughts and dreams
are just thoughts and dreams—a plastic pastoral,
imagination's dollhouse, memory's surrender—
and not a possibility under threat of becoming the reality,
as i'm no longer strong enough to make the right choice.
~ ajay
25/12/2024
