In lieu of a text message here is a mourning dove

I looked at for a long time while repeating

your name in my head. My hope is that the dove

will find its way to you & you will hear

my voice in some capacity, even just

a memory of it asking when was the last time you ate.

Oh my god I miss you. Oh my god.

Boundaries, my own, can put their mouth on my asshole

& inhale with vigor. What are you looking at right now?

Is someone dancing? Is there a honeydew?

What if I’m too old to wait for you?

What if when you’re done I’m already gone?

Every day I put off forgetting your voice & think

about your voice filling the room like a fucking solar flare

pulling me into your impossible golden distance.

Let me sleep a little longer in your guitar.

I would like to make a room in there with lamps

& a stove & a garden under the skylight.

Has the dove arrived? Listen to me.

Every day I fall higher into a life that is not ours.