sugar on the bathroom floor

there is a sugar packet on the floor of the bathroom

and something about it seems very wrong, now that I mention it

everything about this bathroom feels wrong

the garbage can blocking the sink

the mirror so you can watch yourself taking a shit

sometimes there is too much space made for reflection.

maybe I am just in a funk but I find this to be true.

last night I dream of Aaron, as always, he is alive, but even in the dream

I know he is dead, I think I am lucky to get to see him,

I see him on the train, recognize him, and know he is dead,

but I think––look! he is alive. As though I can steal this moment

I ignore the fact and follow him through the dream until inevitably,

he slips through my fingers. About a year ago in Istanbul

following a thread of wild insanity clear as the water from a spring

I found myself in the arms of a Turkish man in a smoky club

called the secret garden. What am I doing here? I asked myself

and I almost walked out, but then he saw me, and then I got a drink,

God, did I need, a drink. And there was a moment, sitting on his lap,

kissing him, him biting my neck, that I moaned, said yes, was frustrated.

What? he asked alarmed, and I said, I wish we had more space.

He suggested the bathroom,

sugar on the bathroom floor.