In my dreams last night,
There was fleeting sex with an evil person whose feel I can’t remember,
On the second floor of a bunk-bed in front of a Netflix screen.
I don’t remember courting, nor the catch-up about what happened after doing each other wrong,
Merely doing each other.
There was snow on the ground,
As if this presence passed through my security
Because I never let go of them in the first place.
I do not feel disgust looking at this,
I stare only with blank eyes.
I need to consult this with the film over my corneas.
What are you doing there in the first place?
I look at my bed, empty in reality.
What were you doing there in the first place?