Realistic Dreams We Call Fantasies

Your figure explodes in my eyes

and the voices begin to catalyze

my reaction to your disguise. 

My heart searches for you like a satellite.

Run back to me. Slap the pavement.

My body longs for yours to be close.

Baby, I'm in the mood. Give me payment

for what I've done wrong. Boast about my body.

Trace my curves with your fingers. Bite away my skin, and 

reach for my heart. Pull me closer 

if I flinch. Hold me tighter,

keep me from bursting out into

screams. Shed your doubt. Life is perfect.

When you're here, of course.

My arms are empty, my lips dry. 

I'll dream of laying with you tonight.

My subconscious makes you real,

puts your scent in the air, your skin

in my empty hands. My stomach

churns, knowing it isn't really you.

Author's Note

Often Are The Death Of Me.

*Original written date: 10.5.10

Reviews

[MiidniightSoul]

This is an amazing poem. Very beautifully written and very sad. You describe things very well, which makes your poem come alive. Wonderful work.