About the Cool Fool In My Head

In my dreams I do everything right
I’m so cool, long and bold like my shadow
She doesn’t even move her lips and yet she has everyone listening
Those lips have been tasted

Not a single genuine thought passes through her
Her body is finer than fairy dust
Our blood still streams, steadily and red
Our brown eyes, beautifully mimicked; we see for miles

For the short-lived life of her she can’t remember music
Making me work extra hard for our poetry
She doesn’t need to survive much, not like me
Born after sunset, and dead by dawn

That short-lived life lives
Whether it be in the gowns of queens
The passenger seat of a Berlinetta Camaro
Or tripping on Saturn’s rings

Every touch isn’t lingered, neither is it forgotten
They pass through her pores and right onto my own skin
She’s deliberate about each one
While I lie, trying to keep away from being jealous . . .

Sweet scenes flip through my mind, inflamed purely by infatuation
Their particles rain into my pillow, knowing I’ll be back
Not knowing that this is the last place I want to be
Which is why it is the last destination to my day

And on a particular night
A different weight sets upon her shoulder while they sit
His head pushed against her, and his body slumped
Drunken, happy, dreamy

I won’t disturb him, since I’m the one who has to wake up.