Dearest,
I cheated in my dream. She texted first.
Be there at six, she wrote, to which I replied
I can’t.
Then I took the elevator and never found her
(up there in my head).
I think I’m fooled by her glasses, her double-
natured eyes, two blank screens.
Half of me stares on, transfixed, the other half, as always,
wants to slap her.
Do you think I love holding grudges? Am I using you
as a weapon? Maybe. It’s fine, you would say.
And I’ll be thankful you don’t wear glasses.
