Sleep Hangover

  There you stand you bastard--
  all shadows and light,
  dark and bright,
  always so right,
  never out of your element
  regardless of setting.
  Dreamtime manipulates the facts
  till you resemble a reality-challenged parody
  of what you once had been, and have become.
  On the plane of sugar-coated stars
  your doppleganger seeks me out
  or allows my protracted approach;
  attentive, responsive, and always, always funny.
  How could you possibly be any other way?
  In one night I could drive to you,
  or fly in but a fraction of that.
  Rather I am here, in my own bed,
  as close as I can get to you.
  My presence is not wanted,
  you make it abundantly clear.
  So why the nightly beating of myself bloody
  in my sleep, supposedly unconscious,
  but its the ego's doing and the subconscious
  that keeps this show running, encore after encore?
  If it were any different now,
  if I got another chance, what would I say,
  having already said too much?
  It'd take me several non-existent days
  to just open my expectant mouth
  and give birth to the word 'hello,'
  much less anything beyond ankle-deep.
  Dreading your pronouncement at all corners,
  the judgement and grading and de-grading,
  already reduced is my shiny-eyed presentation
  to ashes, pond-scum, and raspy repulsive cawing;
  an old crow am I now,
  formerly a full-fledged phoenix, of sorts.
  At night when the flood lets loose
  like uncontrollable seeking and finding,
  uninterrupted pleasure and joy till dawn;
  your will and eyes are no less sharp.
  Your skin tastes like salty, bloody candy;
  you're laughably sweet, looking shyly sideways
  even though we're psychically joined, and
  all we're waiting for is to come down on each other.
  I awaken in the afterglow
  of relief and release to another disjointed day
  of cursing my fool self,
  knowing you're gone emotionally,
  and doing everything & nothing
  to head off the nightly replay.
  I hate you, love you, desire you,
  want to hold you, want to break you,
  & most of all want it mirrored back;
  dreams intensify it all tenfold.
  Do yours? Have you also drowned in pathos,
  longing and aching every non-waking hour
  that's gone like smoke in the morning?
  If only for one day, 
  would that you feel like I feel,
  and god knows you probably do.
  I hope you do, you bastard,
  and that she haunts your dreams and sleep
  and makes you wake up sticky;
  that every minute you spend
  in her presence
  and her husband's
  is torment.

  PamEhli/2002                                                            Since 1-20-03
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