I want to write about you, dear lover, so badly that I have made you up;
You are just enough fantasy in you to never let me down.
When you call me Dr. Frankensteinknow that I am stealing your wit and adding it to his face, another body and oh my god THOSE arms.
I will reel them into my head like a scanner, taking mathematical measurements and using formulas to pixilate the warmth that radiates off of your hand as you punch my shoulder, soldier,
as friends do.
If I lean on you now will you know that I am memorizing this sense of comfort so that I may cut and paste it into fantasy folders, only to be opened in my dreams?
When you push me far away
know that I am wiring the implications of your strength into my mind, because I want to remember just how much more powerful you are than me.
The dream man will use your strength to push me against a wall, he will use his arms to hold me against his warmth as I cry, his wit to comfort me, and his loyalty to give me something to look forward too.
I will look up from within his arms and stare into empty sockets, because your eyes say too much to compute;
You are the blue screen of death.
Reboot me because I need to build him up in my head once more—
There must be some way to create a better man than you, friend.
