Wet Blanket

While you were dreaming, I had a dream of my own – the same dream I always have. In it, I never move; I am only moved. I never breathe, I simply catch the breath of others. I know the touch and taste of skin, better than a man’s wife or a woman’s husband, but never once has my name been whispered, never once my heart remembered.

I am wrapped up in you. I know you in the morning, at your least prepared. I hold you like a lover, like a mother, like a child. You yawn and smile and pull yourself away…I cling and grasp, but my hold is weak. You shower. You have your coffee. You walk out on me, expecting me to be there every night. And like a fool, I am.

Tonight, though, you’re not alone. Another woman, dressed like you are dressed. Kissed by the same breath of wine and cigarettes. You stink, but you still crawl over me, sliding fingers with indulgent, decadent claws against me. You’re hot against me, eager. With a crook of your finger, you bring her over. I watch you kiss her, watch the last of your lipstick stain. You both only watched me for a moment, though you felt me throughout the night.

By the dawn, we were alone. You felt alone. I wanted not to feel alone, freshly haunted by my dreams. They never end when I awaken. You get up to shower, to have your coffee. I cling to your skin, and you just drag me along.

You drop me into the washing bin…stained with the scent of you.

Soon, I will be clean.