tell me about it

Dear Mr. Fantasy:
The reality of you preys on my mind.
You could be, for instance,
cobbled from my memory, desire
A patchwork man, sewn from
bits of show and song.
I might have handmade you
Carved you from a block of imagination
Crafted each part by heart
Just the way I like it - just so.

Dear Mr. Fantasy:
All this, I’ve dreamed of -
The exact curve of your arm, your stubble
Earlobes and eyelashes, that laugh
The way you cradle your guitar
(I want to be your guitar.)
Perhaps I made you in my head
Picking all the things that especially appeal
This and that, all that, all this
that’s you. How else could you be
just what I wanted (even before
I knew what it was?)

Oh, Mr. Fantasy:
You’re wind. You’re fire.
You’re a tall dark stranger
The Man on the Moon.
You’re just what the doctor ordered,
a little girl’s pipe dream,
a secret fantasy.
A soap opera in the middle of the day.
You’re a whole bag full of cheesy clichés
You’re Fabio, you’re Brad
You’re Johnny Depp.

Dear Mr. Fantasy:
If I closed my eyes just for a second

would you disappear?

Copyright J. Pan 2007