to my imaginary mate

The dish washer stopped working
     just quit.
I meant to scrub them earlier
but a week went by

And there’s dishes in the sink
     and trash piled high
and I haven’t done the laundry
     and can’t see the floor.

It’s not my fault.
     It’s indolence
it’s evidence
     that I’m alive.

My dearest –
every day I’ll write to you
I’ll make you as close as underwear
     as real as the hum of the heater
into a new measure of passing time.