sometimes i wonder what it feels like to be you. search the pockets of my mouth. the hard palate. to arch this ache that is me left without. you aren't there. in any sheet fold. when i roll the bed to blindness. and when i wake. you aren't there. only a stung tongue and nightmare dreams of liquid cake. of bird attacks. and red lacquered finger tips. all night long my eyes plucked out to toss the turn. the broken bulb. and you. every medicine cabinet morning. needs to catch. the mirror mocking gape.