Back to Bed

I let my dreams
lie to me every night —
Every morning, no desire of mine
is strong enough to push me up,
I don’t even set an alarm anymore
and my sheets still smell like him —
the stench of nicotine clenches like a lottery
ticket junkie — I’ll win next time –
I’ll get up tomorrow morning but instead I go
back to bed until my breath syncs with the TV static,
the tea kettle screams to turn it off –
if I close my eyes shut, maybe
black stars on the roof of my eyelids
will rid my fear of the dark
before reality hits sunrise,
you would lock eyes with the moon and bewitch it
you said it reminded you of our first time, as if the moon
watched us rubbing red paint on woodwork,
our shadows manipulating every crease in heaven —
you said it was the only time we could cheat
the morning, going back to bed
scratching the corners of my notebook
I haven’t touched in a while
I’m back to my old cotton home —
To that night you calmed my lips
with the taste of moonshine, a brush
of perfect poetry, an upside-down blood rush
oozing its way to my public dreams
listlessly leading me
back to bed.