In the dream, we were on a subway
      going to meet your mother.
Knowing I didn’t drink booze anymore.
      you said well, at least we can have
some chemistry, and you had this smile
      that made me wonder if you
wanted to kill me. Then I remembered
      your mother was dead,
by her own hand, and they shouldn’t make
      hands like that I thought,
as I looked at yours to see if you had
      your mother’s wrists, but you
wore gloves, that went up past the elbow.