Definition
I admit the woman
in my dream last night
was, at best, a composite,
sharing personality
traits with several past lovers:
a skeptical nature,
a growing detachment
from whatever
this thing was.
Climbing the stairs
I saw the roof collapse—
she disappeared through
the exit, free falling upwards,
a motion not unlike flying.
Later she questioned
my commitment
to the relationship,
a definition of whatever
this thing was.
As I watched,
her eyes changed color,
then shape, her hair
morphed from short
to long, black to blonde—
she complained, more
than once, how I fell
in love with her parts,
objectification the word
on the tip of her tongue,
preferring the breakup
to any other history
we shared, from whatever
this thing was.
Michael Minassian is a Contributing Editor for Verse-Virtual, an online poetry journal. His poetry collections Time is Not a River, Morning Calm, A Matter of Timing and Jack Pays a Visit, are all available on Amazon. His collection 1000 Pieces of Time was released October, 2025 by Sheila-Na-Gig, Inc. For more information: https://michaelminassian.com
