when he becomes
more than just a dream,
my heart will beat
the sound of a thousand drums
my soul will ache
with the clinching of needy fists
my mind will race
towards a feminine understanding,
and butterflies will
make sense again.
their existence
somehow unbelievable,
until then.



Allow me to pretend,
he’d feel like magic
with flawed skin,
an usually infectious
laugh and grin.
I’d be reminded
I am enough
over and over again,
and then loved
as if I were
his very own.