I’m dreaming that our bed is engulfed in flames, but in the waking world either your body lies draped across my torso, or I have a fever, or we forgot to turn the oven off, or someone dropped a burning corpse between us, or we have too many sheets, or I can see the future, or our bed really is engulfed in flames, or God came back when we were sleeping, or global warming works faster than they say, or a Republican tweeted, or there was a gas leak, or the neighbors can tell we aren’t just friends, or I’m in the Fantastic Four, or a burglar enjoys a Marlboro, or your ex finally did it, or the thermometer broke, or meteorites collided, or war was declared. When I wake up, you’re clinging to me like damp hair. I scan the ceiling for burns.
Coleman Bomar is a bad student, neurotic writer, and 'inspired' artist who resides in Tennessee. He counts his OCD as an advantage. His written works have been featured by Blink-Ink, SOFTBLOW, Eunoia Review, Moonpark Review, Maudlin House, and many more. His work is archived at Yale’s Beinecke Library.
Art by Bob Schofield @anothertower