i had a dream last night that Stone Cold Steve Austin was helping me rearrange furniture and i kept calling him Stone instead of his actual name but he was fine with it

Stone Cold Steve Austin

is too big for my cramped living room.

his face is all red when he lifts

a piece of my sectional

over his bald head

with his big ol’ biceps

but he assures me

it’s only allergies

and not from over-exertion.

i apologize.

i should’ve warned him

about the dog hair and cat dander

and the dust. it’s just been hard

learning to take care of myself

as well as the dog and the cat

and the dust mites

and i’m so thankful he’s here with me

hefting side tables

and dusting ceiling fans.

i offer Stone a Benadryl and a fistful

of tissues for his runny nose.

i apologize again,

this time for continuously calling him Stone.

it’s just that i feel like it suits him

better than Steve.

he tells me over the vacuum’s hum

that they used to call him Stunning

and i say yes, Stone, that’s also

way better than Steve.

Stone suggests a new layout

for my living room, tells me

some things about feng shui

and i don’t even google

to see if he’s making shit up;

when he explains his vision,

he is very convincing

so i stand back

and watch sweat darken the back of his shirt,

moisture mapping echoes of my touch.

he rearranges all my furniture and leaves

heavy footprints in my carpet.

later on, when Stone goes home

and i’m left alone in the blue glow of dusk,

i press both my feet

into one of his footprints.

suddenly the room is so empty

i lose myself in the center of it.

the room feels exactly like

it was made to fit somebody

other than me.

like it was made to hold some body

other than mine.