First Night in Milan

I dreamed last night that I was

dancing and notes from you

appeared on colored printer paper

as we all whirled around the room.

They were written in

Oplinger's hand and it didn't

bother me because you two were

one and the same in my mind.

I saw your messy script admonish

Deutch to quit fucking up and I was

surprised because I know he was a

fantastic violinist when he played.

A pink paper folded haphazardly

told me in sharpie scribbles that

you missed the taste of my kisses and I

wanted to hold it in my hands

and read the words to myself but when

the dance was over it was

nowhere to be found.

You were standing under the archway of a

church in your oxford shirt and khaki shorts

and I asked you about Sweden.

You lit up a cigarette and told me it

was cool and I wanted to ask you

more things but your impatient apathy

made my throat close up so that

I couldn't ask you about the note

and I told myself that I would be settling

if we ended up together.

When I woke up I was disgusted with you

and it took a long time for me to

separate fact from fabrication

and as of now I'm still not finished

but don't worry because I'm not mad anymore.