It’s fantasy because you say that people never do that in real life.
I do.
It’s fantasy because you say that people are trapped in a prison and all of this is fake.
But I don’t care.
It’s fantasy because you don’t like it and its not brick solid and it’s not on a search engine.
But neither am I.
It’s fantasy because there are pretty dresses and handkerchiefs and you are from the city.
So am I.
So as I curb and derail all of your uh uhs, and wait a minutes, and this aint real….
by taking your hand and frolicking
and kissing for no reason
and trying to count the stars
before  I tattoo your initials into my neck
And still manage to
smile in the middle of the disappointment of reality
Know….
that fantasy is only a precursor to reality
a subway station to happiness
a harbor for ideas
a map of me showing you what I can do fully clothed that I can also do, naked.
It’s fantasy?
Then so am I….
yours.