Where she is nothing but a thought
To which you can close your eyes and caress your most beautiful visions of her.
An avoidance of looking into her soul,
Bared in the depth of the oceanic irises that fill with lust at a single word.
A place to hide from your demons,
The qualities you deeply despise of yourself
You can be anyone behind your fingers.
Because when Late night came, so did she
A meeting filled with a desperation for normalcy
But plagued by a bittersweet reality.
In front of you she kneeled to rid you of your worry —
But she could not measure to fiction
Even when her lips parted intimately.
You can only repay her with stories,
Years of your life for five minutes of hers.
She is full of you but somehow still empty.
All the promises made will never be kept
For you can not look beyond the flaws outside her.
She is not what you expected, it seems.
Her quiet laughter put you at ease,
You both remain opposite and alone until
It is almost morning when she gets up to leave.
When she returns home
She wishes you never really existed and perhaps were simply a bad dream.
You will find a new imagination.