Fantasy

                   –thank you to Pablo Neruda

Fantasy

            Of forms far out of reach—

Old loves is

Where even unripe green fruit are rotting.;

Thought of as urgent,

Arrow-nose pointed down and

Forward to their unreachable reaches,

Just blind desire pointing in the wrong direction,

A blindsided end to a parallel life.

 

Be scooped up by the stork and wait, please!

There are stars that have shaped into human form,

The hearts of which were hiding until the night

Of love,

Love of the truest sense, a feeling as unfamiliar

As you’ll ever enjoy,

Eye shapes communicating core ideas,

Searching through their colors,

Only a few times together before the lips are bitten,

The limbs smoothed, a rarer form of heat

 has risen from your bodies,

Sentences scarcely begin,

Sex is on the automatic pilot of your dreams.

 

Parallel lives only exist on the midnight bed,

Glorious doors closed, a hand to hold instead

Of wishing for death.

 

The hands of this star in human form are there to be held,

Feeling like nothing more will be withheld,

They can see the lies you were told,

Your bogus childhood idealizations,

Your artistic talents, of course……

A coupling of mad peacemakers

Already older and wise at the end,

As home, embodied, the only temporary

Is life—not us.

 

Eternal love understood us,

Wanted us, pushed us to be together.

It never said No, Do this, not yet,

How do you do, or not.

It provoked, it laid in bed with us our whole lives,

It waited for the day

When separation and togetherness

Would fade.