We are seduced by songs and
‘happily ever after’ scrolling across screens
in the movie reels of
our secret fantasies, both fed by lies
falling from the remnants of fairy tales
and bedtime lullabies.

Poets wax it,
and under the full moon, it does seem possible—
if rushed in our eagerness to fall, but to fall safely.
(But the wise among us know, there is no such fling) .
In the haze, we tell ourselves release is renewal,
that this first blush and fresh bloom is truth.
But—
by light of day it wanes.

That’s amore.

Despite our schooling, our independence, our
“you go girl” and “single is sexy” bumper stickers,
and the thought that we can save ourselves,
we still yearn
for what we learned in our youthful
diet of Disney,
dodging disappointment, confusion, illusion,
false hope and cheesy commerciality.
(That’s aimed at you, Hallmark, Hollywood) .

Deep in the tender period between wakefulness and sleep,
where secrets wishes and passions surge unchecked,