Eyeliner

I had a dream of you. Eye of You. It’s been one of many without explanation. Can’t explain you. My sister was losing a hand, her right. An unavoidable operation. You, both of you, were wearing eyeliner and could duplicate. I was angry because I didn’t care about the hand. Not as much as the eyeliner. Or the duplicity of two of you and your blackened eyes. I knew She made you wear it and all I could mutter was, “fukcing foolish” like I knew better. Like I was supposed to care. We met for dinner but ordered lunch. My sister’s babies multiplied from two to three and it seemed all so normal. Even the hand losing part. I remembered the restaurant, been there before, but not the menu. Foreign language in a dead man’s house for it was someone’s home. I hated myself for wanting to keep you when I didn’t want you just as much. Equal parts love and hate. Ate the bread. The eyeliner still bothered me and I bitched back about it. A Clockwork Orange stupidness that couldn’t be washed off or forgotten. Since when? Silly stupidness. I woke confused, not knowing where I was.

On the drive to work I heard a song that make me think of you. If I said the one word song you would know, you is You. Everyone would know it was you and I can’t expose you like that. With or without eyeliner.