I dreamed that I was kissing you. 

First your forehead, then your nose.

Top lip, bottom lip, 

chin, 

neck, 

chest. 

All the while afraid that I was forcing myself on you, that at any minute you were going to send me flying across the room. 

And every time I would get to your chest someone would knock on the door. 

A child, or a sibling, or another man. 

That is my life. 

Constantly interrupted by the fear of intimacy or failure. 

I hate that you're gone.

 I hate that I want you.

You said "it's fair now"

and you didn't care.

It's the same as last time.

I'm stupid and alone.

 Left to pick up my crumbling self