sheeted water
with words from Adrienne Rich
Gabriella C.S.
asking myself where I see this going is enough
how can I dream of my boyfriend when
my dead ex-girlfriend is consuming me
when we are fucking I catch myself thinking--
about being not-fucked
laundry in the bedroom and what we ate
for dinner and Anastasia and the park
and Adrienne Rich’s “IX”
my silence is a pond where drowned
things live. I recite this as he strokes
and as he falls asleep after coming
his body a black lump visible from the toilet
as I piss and sit awake for hours
for me to understand where this is going