a flutter of eyelids (mine not yours.)
we lie here under a pale orange fog of a blanket, which i gather up in my arms
like i was once gathered up in yours.
i pantomime a kiss at your slumbering face and get up,
dumping the comforter on the floor and turning my back
on the clouds of dreams that hover around me, dragged out of sleep.
the teevee extols the virtues of some frothy white gowns.
i pour myself some cereal and dash out the brides and new babies that clutter my head.

four years ago you opened to me like an unexpected gift,
a sudden friend in a crowd of strangers.
every sandwich break with you was a feast.
i was a dizzy schoolgirl with a new crush, a new dress, someone to kiss.
now seeing you is like getting a flat tire.

i look into your eyes. The ringing phones, stamps and envelopes swirl in your irises. in your eyes i read the future; being decended upon by tiny mouths and minivans and hazy visions of mundane love. in your eyes i find myself drinking gin in the kitchen at noon on a Tuesday, and now i see
all these years i was making love to my reflection.
our promises, still kept, are hollow.