Real

Since we met, I have had no other focus. Reason has turned to a thick fog that blocks out certain letters on the interstate, sending me careening down off-ramps to strange and lost places not found on traditional maps. The night and day have tossed up and the two take random turns at keeping me awake.

I have walked miles in search of her alluring whispers. She calls down alleyways, in shadows and steam. Her eyes, the high lamps illuminating temporary lovers pressed close in the cold. Her breath, the vents of a tall hotel, exhaling the breath of hundreds of exhales, billowing out into the service docks raised to meet delivery trucks.

I have felt her fingers touch me, sending electricity and promise. Her lips to my ear, opiate sedation and drowsy obedience. I walk. I stumble. I beg for her to be real.