I dreamt of you last night again, and again
the night before, you were there. You pop
up a lot is what I’m saying, but I don’t care.
No one here is a good friend. They are all
just true acquaintances, which shouldn’t be
so bad. Still, though we’re just acquainted
I wanted you to see Picasso’s Black & White
exhibit with me. You wouldn’t answer any
message be it email or call, text or smoke
signal. I want to sit on this futon with you
and scroll through Shawkat’s paintings.
She is quite good, and I think you would
enjoy her (what can I call it?) play of color
and line. It’s disturbing and stark and I
associate those words with our acquaintance.