Dean

I first met Dean

in December in my bed.

 

He bit the ends of my fingertips as I traced her back.

He nipped my nose when my hands flipped her over

and he told me to stop.

 

I brush my teeth and I pop a pill and I apply a cream.

I set the alarm (8:30 with no snooze)

and I can only think of the movies I’ve never seen.

 

I white-water raft and try to climb a mountain. I cook a hot dog.

I listen to songs played by crickets and watch light shows performed by fireflies

and I can only think of the albums I’ve never heard.

 

I kiss a woman. I hold her in my arms after we make love.

I peek over her shoulder at her graphic design homework

and I can only think of the art museums I’ve never visited.

 

I read a book. It is by an author I like. I am quiet on a bench and I am invested.

I get to chapter two and decide it’s a favorite

and I can only think of the books I’ve never read.

 

I think of Dean.

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