In memory of Michael who would rather have me reciting lines from a John Waters film

I forget you,
only to remember
in the shower
just as I've lathered up -
suds spilling down sting my eyes.

Sitting on a couch with friends,
I feel the heaviness of your head
and silky hair against my arm.

The next touch on my hand
reaches into the dark and lonely
drawing out a raging
angel
which sits on my shoulder.

You
sleep
in
my
realized
fears.

In the morning, there is a single drop of
dew on the rose outside my window -
all the crisp transience of the dark night.