I feel it is my duty to tell you–

You have been a frequenter of my dreams.

Once I saw you there under the streetlight moon,

Skirting our shrubs of partition.

I saw you other times, too.

Because you were such regular,

I was thrilled through when the first Notification arrived

In the oracle mailbox.

And more prophecies followed,

And they foamed and frothed in that moldy, old box

Upstairs.

I sipped a sip much too often, and swooned dead, drunk.

Once, I tried a Notification back.

It was returned for “inadequate postage.”

When the harbingers ceased thunder at the end of the endless age,

You arrived: yourself.

I practically contorted to the car to introduce myself,

But when I brushed back your ego to kiss you,

I stopped.

The coat I’d tucked and tightened and thrashed about you 

Could fit any man.