You Set Your Hair on Fire

I had a dream, I watched you set your hair on fire
And there was nothing I could do because you were in North Carolina.
I watched you burn.
I woke up screaming when you said you were fine.

I thought I wore a face with no blinds,
just glass, no window shade.
I thought my thoughts ricocheted
into your mind.
I thought your thoughts
found home in mine.
But I saw you on 4th ave
and you lied.
Upstairs bottles stood unoccupied,
trash bag hung undignified.
My clothes smelled of you,
the air yelled of you,
but you never said a word.

And I know it wasn’t you, not really,
but the imposter wore your face,
So clearly, it might take a minute to retrace,
our missteps...
an hour or two to replace
the trust we lost somewhere
on the sidewalk on East 12th street.

I couldn’t see you clearly,
too close, too wishful, too diluted,
our shared drinking water too polluted.
Your intoxicating breath filled my lungs,
then I sighed the same delusions back
across our tongues.
And as we passed that sweet tasting self-deception back and forth,
I missed your eyes glazing over, rolling north.
I dozed off, my mistake.
I woke up, chest-deep in lake
I thought was still miles away,
and you were already drowning.