Fever-fed

on opiates, cigarettes
and macaroni cheese.
Cinder-tongued,
sleep-steeping in sheet sweat
swollen dreams—
your son is always calling my name.

Blister-lipped I
am hearing myself moving
for your arms
why does my pillow
like your girlfriend’s mouth?

Un language-locked,
in visions I am you
I dreamt
I dreamt
you came back to watch me cry.