I am in love with a Marine! I’ve never met him. I don’t even know his name. He comes to me in recurring dreams with the same scared and searching smile. Early twenties, blonde, stubble-chinned, sturdy. His ears stick out a bit too much.
In this life, I live in a single room in some war-torn tropical hellhole. Just a bed, a stove, a small table, and a few chairs. There’s one dingy window, but it’s always night. It’s my home-office, so to speak, but my Marine just comes to talk. We hold each other. Tell our sins. Sometimes we kiss or cry. I place my palm against his beating heart to calm him, and he returns the favor. We fall asleep together.
Our souls must have sublimated somewhere, entwined like that. In a past life or some alternate reality. Maybe it’s a false memory of true love that can only exist between archetypes. The Shellshocked Boot and The Saintly Hooker. We must have been one hell of a match!
Sometimes, in crowds, I get the notion he’s around. I haven’t found him, yet.
But I still write him love poems.
to no one,
you hold me
and i am safe.
has not yet
i still feel