18.11.016 Old Nothing

Today, regretfully, I woke up.
I'd dreamt of stacking cat food cans,
of paste- and gravy-covered hands,
texting straight friends, asking
for a reparative fucking.

Today, I awoke to a hunger I did not desire to quell—
to more fear, to an empty bed,
to the old feeling of absence;
husband, warm at my back, where are you?
I have not missed you in so long.

Today, I rose to yowling cats, purring
as they ate their cereal, purring
in one another's presence—
attacking my feet, my hands,
chewing wires and pushing plants from stands.

Today, I wake to hours passed,
to the old braying of my heart,
to the brute punishment of Time and Space.
Old paralysis, old Nothing, I've found you again—
or perhaps you never left me at all.