After-Shave

Last night I fell asleep on the couch
again and dreamed
I was a one-eyed salmon
swimming upstream,
it's winter in Ohio
and the sun is rarely seen,
the cold steams my breath
on fast-moving windows
of my youth,
heaven is growing green
somewhere else if it's true
that love is a dog
from hell
lying warm at my feet,
and most of all
I want to fall in love again,
I want to miss your perfectly clean
out-the-door
after-shave Bukowski smell
lingering somewhere
we never went,
somwhere we have
yet to meet.