Matt Denis

i dream you as a stray cat
untethered, dark-eyed girl,
yawning your way around another frozen,
yellow-lit street corner

it's something about the sinewy rhythm of your hips,
your tilted head;
and their perfect cadence with the direction of the wind
that picks my tongue out of my head
and scatters the ashes of a million love letters
that i never should have composed

and i, tongueless under that abyss,
at once vacant and limitless,
have nothing to do but bring my knees to my chest
and my chin to my fists
waiting for the next baritone rumble of headlights
around the corner to remind me:

the cat is gone
i should know by now that you are too