with feathers

I live by-

crave-

hope;

the way most people do

air and coffee.

this urgency

that burns,

it complicates matters considerably

when

she still hasn’t realized

she is merely living

a hypothetical life,

and that it’s all been one

long

drawn out

double entendre.

I keep creating boundaries,

labeling

and hanging expectations all around

like crepe paper and balloons at

a 1^st birthday party-

lovely in sentiment,

lost on the recipient.

It’s as if I am not even here,

or I’m a child

repeating  “why”

until the word evaporates.

Is it folly to imagine

that  loving her will ease

the hurt of her pain?

Hope as I may,

dreams ,

no matter how magic

no matter how lovely,

dreams just won’t keep you

warm at night.