Today I did not move.
I was the laziest of cats and
outside of time on a purple mat and
playing a woman Anthony Bourdain,
I did not leave my bed.
I read the way my cats read the birds through open blinds,
spent time lost in pieces of life I’ll never know and
lusted after words dressed in such fine robes that
I know nothing like them will ever be mine.
I dreamed a dozen little dreams like the softest of kisses.
Each left its own shade of lipstick
on the white collar of my mind and
turned reality into a jealous wife
who wished she were enough for her man.
Coming home to her screeching
ambulance and giant stack of unread bills beside the blender-
it’s enough to make the man inside me
miss the slender arms of my mistress.