I imagine you imagining women 

Who are aren’t me 

While I bathe myself 

In the cool blue light of dusk 

Unforgiving but constant; 

my feet begin to swell

 

How do I break the pattern

that’s been corroding all my ambitions

and well deserved achievements?

The indignant beckoning that plays on a loop

makes rot of fruit 

A dizzy dredging to another town

that promises a life 

already whittled to dust 

 

I’m swallowed by a bed 

built for a wedding 

I sleep wrapped in the irony—

Waking to an amber morning 

I know the blue will come again