He took my hand and led me
Into his glamorously draped, secretly Styrofoam
Dream world
Where the sky was the only clock.
Breakfast butterflies on a Sunday morning
Because his eyes shone like love in the light,
And I didn’t know the sun was his employee.
Over the bridge at night,
Hands burned prints across my skin
So softly but suddenly
The insides of my lids glowed red
Until I opened to black, the torrid closeness of him
And the icy stone railing on my back.
Now awake and searching
For a cure and oblivion,
I’m lost in the swiftly rushing
Water under his bridge.