As the Days Pass and Darken

Three nights in a row
I have dreamed about you
living in the house
nextdoor, married, like me.
And each day, after
almost touching your thighs,
I am half asleep.
I began seeing you again
when friends died, or
when a father sickened,
and I wept.
What do I want?
It has been an easy winter,
not much snow,
the same hesitant looks
between people who
would rather touch
and hold each other.
Half asleep, I remember,
and it isn’t anything human
about you, it isn’t your
face or voice that I need.
I am older. As the days
pass and darken, some-
thing grows too strong in me
and begs on the street,
in rooms, everywhere.