It aint Disney

The birds chirp.

Ocean waters brim and teem.

Flowers steadily bloom.

Sun shines solid rays.

A field of daffodils sway.

You stand still, feet bare

Breeze tousled hair.

He stands afar, in view, staring at you

across the blossoms, moving now, faster, running toward you

Is that music? Is there music on the wind?

You take off, lovely hop and skip toward him

quickly yet in slow motion

Your Hall Mark heart bursting waves of goo in your Harlequin book cover scene

You’re close enough now to feel breath

You clasp hands and energy flows through you

And he opens his perfectly shaped lips to speak

You get giddy until you notice

The tattoo on his chest says Amanda

Your name is Susan.

You notice buzzards circling.

Dead fish and water bottles crowd the nearby shore.

You’re allergic to fucking flowers and when you sneeze

Snot lands on his upper lip which draws attention

to the fact that when he wipes it off, that big pulsing vibrating

mass is not a pimple.

It is herpesviridae simplex one.

The sun burns as you hold his sweaty hands

His oddly shaped mouth open

His breath reeking of sleep and blood and garlic coated saliva

and Amanda.

Ants bite your feet while he says,

I’ve been meaning to tell you that

you

should

move

out

soon,

okay?

Babies coo.

Airplanes roar.

He leaves.

Your hair looks really good still.

Somehow, princess, you will be, fine.