Brides, like visions of sugar plums,
dance through my periphery
(at the slightest provocation)
superimposed on the sum
of all warnings thrown up
by the more sober regions of my brain
warnings of improbability
sheer impossibility
the scant chance
of attaining the attentions of one
as infinitely worthy as you.

I dismiss this static illusion
of  porcelain perfection,
the vivid intricacy
of our imagined intimacy,
the scrimshaw delicacy
of wandering touch
my capacity for fantasy
extends far past my reach

10/17/2006

Author's Note: I'll finish this tomorrow and post the conclusion.

Posted on 10/17/2006
Copyright © 2025 Lacy D Phillips