Thoughts of you
tumble and turn in my mind
like my clothes on the spin cycle,
and the contained hum of the machines
is the mantra which lulls me back
into your world.
Through half-closed eyes, I see you
float your smile to me, and I remember
that it was here I first saw it,
a smile innocent yet devious,
with your freckled nose crinkled on the bridge,
your wooden hair cropped short,
your blue eyes steadily washing over me like a spring stream…
a reflection in the rippled pools
of misty fantasy,
I sigh to myself philosophically…
your voice is but an echo
bouncing off the silence of my drunken stupor,
faint enough to be too distant,
clear enough to be too close.
A loose coin clanking irregularly
against the window of the drier is
which binds me to this world:
it jars my senses, reminding me that
I am here, and not with you.
The drier stops, washing
me back into my body.
I put another dime in the slot,
to buy a little more time
with you, if only in my dreams.