iii.

one pill is me. you swallow,
selective in your apathy,

the door is closed but unlocked.
the cats orbit round
the room, circle us. they sniff.

too bad the cats have more
intuition than either of us.

too bad i cannot open myself up to you
as easily as you can unscrew
the bottle’s cap—

your pill-induced, addictive &
inevitable nap
ping.