Late at night she comes to me
Not often enough.
Visions of Spring and Sun and radiant light
Natural fragrance of adventure, and poetry, and songs of the wind.
Cliche nonsense, but it’s my dream. I own this. I want more.
Faceless yes, still I inhale the heather in her hair.

Every love story ever written within my grasp.
Heart so warm, yearning to rise up towards the stars, the planets, and beyond.

Utopian sanctuary from all that is not.

How full of shit am I?

Very much.

Apparition departs along with foolish reveries.
Left behind is a book of romance, and Jitterbug Perfume.