I want to wake up where you are
The sitting room is a hollow pill bottle
where the inscription of our conjoined names
is peeling like wallpaper; where children
who resemble you form the cacophony
of memory,

where you are,
where my body slides across the
black sheets like a sky in
transition, I open up
like dusk-fire to and close with the
dawn-death,

where you are
the window stutters open,
the bedroom a living
caricature, a phantom
snuffing out the pale
gray tree line, the mountain-musk,
the first pearly hints of snowfall,
the truck at a persistent idle,

where you are
the cat purrs statuesque and
remote and even though the
clock ages with us you hid
it under the pillow,
the scratch and claw of its
foreshadowing stiff and aching
against my ear,

where you are
I let you sleep,
watch you twitch and sputter
through your dreams, smile
despite myself,

where you are
I am growing untamed,
I am noticing the way my blood
courses through my veins,
feeling the way your hand rests
at the small of my back,

where you are
I know my actions are wrong
but I do them anyway.