Head On

First published in Neptune: A Dream Archive, ‘COVID-19 Collective Dream Journal,’ April 2020

I roll over. My brakes fail, never stop this collision from looping. There’s no grip when I slam my foot. My sole passes through pedal. We collide. It’s peak hour traffic in a time when traffic walked the earth. Hood crumples. Neck kinks. I was driving your car. You weren’t next to me. I roll over and you’re lying by my side. Slide hand over your waist, brush broken glass from our sheets. Blood dries over my eye. You won’t notice it tomorrow morning.