It’s been a long year and it’s only April
and, yes, I had to count on my fingers and mutter the months underneath my breath.
At what point does the medicine cure?
or was it just a temporary fix?
I’m up to my ears in temporary:
residency, work, schooling, friends.
I guess temporary is better than not at all.
I’m becoming accustomed to not at all.
Whiskey on the rocks was a temporary remedy,
like the occasional hit or pill was;
when does the remedy become the routine?
What’s the poison and what’s the antidote,
or is it all just fine lines and areas of gray?
I drempt about you last night,
not in a creepy or sexual way,
you were just there,
hair draped over one eye,
giving your euphorically fleeting smile
and holding my hand while covering up your thumb in my palm
(the only thing you were remotely self conscious about).
I wish I knew why I still see you at night when I haven’t seen you in years.
I wonder if you’ve ever thought these things;
part of me thinks you haven’t,
part of me hopes you won’t.
I guess it’s better not to feel alone in dreams,
especially when you’re alone all the time.
Tonight I’ll stop my mind’s sprint:
two and a half glasses of bourbon
and a generic benadryl takes care of that.
Before I cocoon in my sheets and drift off I wonder,
will I see you tonight sweetheart?
Friends in town, staying at my place.
Still me alone at the bar