Dreams I Shouldn’t Have

In my wildest fantasies,

you believe I’m worth it

so you meet me at the airport

and drive us home

to our house.

We’re us now.

We sleep in the same bed.

We’re as good as it gets.

We fight about politics

and disagree about science.

I try to convince you

psychology is real—

something about mice

and radial arm mazes,

the memorization and mapping.

I say your name.

I moan your name.

I write love poems

that make you frown.

You make me cry

in both the good and the bad ways.

You take me out to a hibachi dinner.

You make me try lobster, frog legs,

all the things I’ve never tasted.

I love you for the little and big things.

You kneel and ask me to marry you.

I admit I don’t wear jewelry,

but I will for you.

We’re real. We’re real. We’re real.