What would I scribble were this a poem? What words would I fumble if you answered your phone? It is fear that makes me want to keep you a city away. Such a fine fantasy - seems a shame to chance disappointment in the flesh when reality inevitably falls short of my moon dust ideals. (After all I’ve been through, am I really still proving my own loneliness?)

Or perhaps I am scared you are a real life human being and inviting you into my life would require a surrender of control that threatens my emotional teeter-totter’s fragile illusion of balance. (After all I’ve been through, am I really still protecting vulnerabilities?)

That you just might be absolute perfection is the true fear here (sealed envelopes without postage). Because if you are more lovely than my wildest dreams, I may just have to evolve stretch transform expand - be my greatest to remain your ever developing equal.

Not someday, not in a fantasy, not safely in my imagination, but now and only now can we dance dirty bare foot delicious in low blue light until four a.m., until the cops write their early morning parking tickets, before snow is scraped from silent sidewalks. Only tonite in the very same city, before my very eyes, in this moment in the flesh - absolute perfect flesh - only now are we one and I am not afraid after all. After all.

After all I have been through, I love harder. Lick the stamp.

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