For
our imagination is drawn.
Drawn from line to line
stroke to stroke
of daydreams that keep us sane
throughout the busy day walking from
one place to the other.
For mine are most
disappointing,
because they are not typical, everyday fantasies.
The workaholic who
stares at the television at night,
the housewife who chose to not do the dishes,
and even the movie star that is only happy at home alone,
will daydream about
what it’s like
to feel, to kiss, to be a part
of someone else’s lips.
They walk past
strangers.
Falling for the curve of their sides,
the lightness of the stranger’s steps,
and the brown hair that
falls gently over their eye.
They want to place
their hands softly
against the their cheek
and learn the definition of being alive.
But mine are most
disappointing.
Because my daydreams do not typically
involve the fleeting thoughts of
love between those who have never met.
My daydreams only
involve you.