Roxanne

She bursted into the apartment
with a power so necessary
It woke me from my dream

I dreamed I was
in a room, all by myself,
with clothes on the floor arranged like
lily pads in a Dali painting,
And papers on the wall
like the pop-up spam on Pollock's computer.

And I noticed in the room
where I could see without the lights on
Was lit by a single window hidden behind
these lazy blinds that didn't seem to work right.
The window was too dirty to see out.
The window was too bothered to care.
The room was organized with nothing,
 made cramped by the objects it spent time with.

But when I awoke I found I was in a different room entirely.
One without passion.
And she burst through my door, panting the feigned breaths
Leaning on the frame with one hand holding up her blindfold
And in the other hand a weight.
Her robe shined like that of a most spectacular city pigeon
And her hair drooped behind her like overflow into a drain.
I had seen her face before on a billboard in my head,
And she told me to catch the next elevator down
she told me to be on the lookout for strangers and also to get a bike

And as she got closer to me
'til her face hovered above mine like a parallel street
Her bosom, clothed in loose fabric, skimmed and scanned my chest
until it was at my shoulders, leaned pressing against my neck
She was no longer looking at me but at the wall behind me
And in her heavy breathing I heard her mutter my name
And when she left for the evening, taking with her Washington's napkins
I noticed something fingered on that dust-blinded mirror
'Your room is a little cramp, don't you think?'