january third.

You’re in the air, flying across

the Atlantic,

flying across gulfs and streams,

some of my favorite countries.

I had a dream that you emailed me.

Sentiments often repeated, I’ve found,

lose their gilded skins, and checking

my inbox was disappointing.

And now I wake up next to your facsimile,

brown eyes and stubbled jaw.

His snores are loud enough to create an avalanche.