fantasy

Cheap wine and fairground rides
in darkness creeping in from the edges
of fantasy dreamt up by the boy standing
in front of me.
On tiptoes, heeled shoes no use
damp grass underfoot, is it worth
hoping for? Still, darkness seeps into
the edges and intricacies of plans
until nothing's left.
Betrayal is a harsh word that
I'd never use. But you would: melt
that ice cube with your burning
stare. I'll pull at this ivy; is it
wrong to give a boy a flower?
Just not today.
I'd swear now, you dreamt it all
up in that wonderful head of
yours. If only I didn't have
the scars. I'd hold on, as long
as need be. But the rope's getting
shorter, and I need some for
myself. Good night.