When the moon hangs low

And whispers secrets in my ear

In slow breathy tones,

I can pretend the distance

Between you and I

Is a forgotten nightmare

I have long since awoken from.

I can lean into your voice

Pressing myself into its revibrant rhythm

Feeling it crash over me like soothing waves,
As you hum assurances in my thirsty ear.

I drink of you, the fine wine of forgotten dreams intoxicates me

Pulling the breath from my lungs and replacing it with yours.

I echo the future you are peddling

Matching each note as we tune our fantasies to the same

previously barren frequency.

You can't know how bad my heart yearns!

Its soft chambers absorb each note

Aching with the heady fullness and

Vibrating with the song of your words.

The now exposed wounds of your vitrol and dispassionate arrogance salved over,

With a sweet poltice of whispered nothings.

Hope rises in my breast, a bird bursting

To break free of the prison of past hurts

Her wings longing to stretch forth to the sky .
She longs to fly away from each

razor of disappointment that has cut so deeply into her flesh.

Like so many dreams, it ends with a whimper.

The song fades into the vague waking memories of nighttime emissions,

A breathy requeum of a forgotten future.

Unable to burst forth and fly, the bird has settled to sleep in a nest deep in my throat.

The sale of fantasy has ended.

For wounds of the heart don't so easily heal, with snake oil promises.