A fragment of spider web blows towards me like a dream. He had things like guest rooms, it would never work. I woke up in tears thinking someone else could want him. I needed an accumulation of months as high as a snow pile to justify what I felt. I crash through leaves going down the hill, sound like my own predator. I'm a twisted cloud, the arch of an entryway. In an evening room, men recite me poetry. He's a bee vibrating in the corner of my vision. Vibrating, vibrating, always on the flowers of my mind. I realized I loved him when my fantasies got sweet, all declarations and roses. No more bent over a desk, exhibitionist classrooms. It was sinister, the way I wanted days to end. I cast my attention forward, I was all future, all hypothetical and wisp. I would have pulled the sun down with my own two hands like a boat hand changing the sails of a ship, moving it into a new day. Blood on the rope, just to see him.
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