Morning Apostasy

Waking from a dream
where everything was so clear and desired
and near, the snapping up
in bed and the eyes settling
in the dark, shadows
of the sine qua non, how the fantasy
slips through fingers of memory
as my cat stirs in the corner and licks
at her small paws.

The wayworn feeling
after hours of not moving.
The hovering nimbus of grey thought
amassing at the periphery,
insuperable and menacing.
Sliding my feet from the sea
of sheets and stepping onto the
terra firma of floorboards
covered in clothes.

Now standing up, now naked and shivering.
Now a white, thinning skeleton animated.
Slough off remnants of the dream with
a shrug and stumble to the shower.

The burning, real water.
Her face so clear moments ago
now lost in steam.
Her voice a syrup miscible with soap.
The vitreous of her eyes mixing with shampoo.
Such beauty draining away with wires of hair and dead skin;
mutinous little pieces of myself still following her.