One, Sweet Memory

The dreams I have these days, are a thick fog. I sleep quickly and wake with nary a stir, my body in the same jumble I left it in. I dreamed that Molly ran off with a radio star, the thought still sickens me somehow. Some fissure of immeasurable depth and darkness has opened up near me, I can feel the vacuum; the insistent tug on my shirt sleeve. She deserves to be a normal girl now; with the sweetness worn off her lips and her hair too tussled - go merrily about your way lithe thing. I still can't say I have a favorite memory of you. My favorite times were always when I left. I can't say I will think fondly of our time on the earth with separate closed doors and your snoring, and your incessant rocking that eroded a limestone karst through my patience.