I Had a Nightmare

I didn’t mean to crawl

through your window

tonight.

But my hand’s still pressed

palm-to-glass

against the pane.

And your eyes,

moonbeams,

wide and blinking,

make my brain drop

through the floor

and run across the street.

The scars on your chest

remind me of the fabric

I took from my Memaw

and use as a blanket.

Rough and ribbed

and peachy pink.

The narrow sill,

pearly in the night light,

cuts into my thighs

as I straddle,

half inside

and half out.

Your fingers snatch me.

Your arms clasp me.

Fleshy locket around

my neck.

For a moment

or two

or thirteen,

I balance with my foot

on your bedroom carpet.