SHOULD/N’T

It could have been a lucid dream. The creeping of the hall light, the next door voices in the wall. My burning in your absence. The way you loved me which was rooted in the way a man once kept you company. I remember the feathered edges of the vision—how it made us think that misplaced trust could keep away the danger. An after image is seared into my mind: the quiver of your jaw when the lies came crawling out, even when the truth was there and ready for the taking.