False Memories
I craft torn worlds immeasurable,
Glades of hilly plains over the mountain,
Mere dreamed memories shape fantasy;
And!
Points unfinished; begun wrong. Asking
in declaration, fever tripped tongue calls
ever outward:
I love you?
Ice drips onto the sand below; stalactites
drilling into the same-made crevice. You
don’t respond.
And
visions lie unfulfilled.
Ah, but to finish! Perhaps one day
I will get the chance to
arrange in order
and make sense again.
