Entertained a faerie whilst droplets
dripped,
dripped,
dripped,
down ridges that hid (though not meekly) from gentler touches of the world.

Other days he held wishes as carelessly as an evening holds the Summer breeze.
But not this.
The sheets of truth, unclean, now changed.
Made a bed for you out of silk.

Eyes, golden, looked like alchemy, the obvious handiwork of a fraud, please,
stay with him anyway. Until new light.
This could be the closest he’ll ever get.

Couldn’t find his eyes in ancient ink,
he scoured year after year
but he found it in you.

In a frame that could be traced with fingers, a warmth felt in the cold. Beauty.
If only for a moment.
If only for a quiet evening.
If only in the confines of a slightly damaged head.

You were my real fantasy. My blue valentine. It could never have last for a life.