poem two : night vision

night vision


in my wildest dreams i see
my man has turned to ice
while standing in the kictchen with
his hand around a knife
so i turn the oven heat
on high and
open up the door
then pour him in a bottle
from a puddle on the floor

he'll stay inside
a secret cupboard
high above my head
when he starts to
miss me simply
spill upon my bed