Dishwasher

Yeah, I still suck at poetry; but seeing as this was written in the two minutes it took me to make a cup of tea, as a break from writing The Caitiff, I don’t think it’s too bad.

Last night I dreamed that I dreamed of you;
We leave the faucet to leak slow and I am there,
You laugh and I smile and we wonder who
This other figure could possibly be.

The dishwasher spins on,
and on into the maddening dark,
and you make vague declarations about,
something or other,
I can’t remember a word you said,
but I remember the conversation.

I showed you scars I gave myself,
and you cried,
and showed me scars the world had given you.
I’ve never cried for someone else,
only for me.
Together we traced scabby ridges,
in each other’s flesh.

Last night I dreamed that I dreamed of you;
and I cried when I woke.

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