When I was five
the most magnificent pastime
was imagining what it would be like
when you swept me off my feet
wearing a long peach gown
(because that was my favorite color
at the time)
and you would set me on
your tall white stallion
and sing me a song
about some enchanted evening
the woodland creatures would sing
with you
wrap your cloak around my shoulders
and we would ride like Snow White
to Ever Ever, After.

When I was twelve
the most exhilirating fantasy
was dreaming what it would be like
when you rolled up
in your strech Hummer
pressing your palm on the
small of my olive green dress back
(because I know what goes with my hair
this time)
and folded your fingers around my wrist
the paparazzi's going mad
gasps and lightning strikes
to our retreating frames
as I turn and wink one last time
and we ride off into the distance
to Broadway and Main.

Now that I'm older
I realize that I'll probably meet you
in the most unexpected of places
a bookstore
a library
when I'm pretending
to read Hemingway
you'll off-handedly tell me
that you like his work
I'll confess that I really don't get it
you'll grin and I'll smile
sheepishly
you'll rest your hand on the
table in front of us
and I'll be wearing
my glasses and a jacket
(because I don't care
what goes with my hair
this time)
and I'll realize that you probably
don't own a white stallion
nor a stretch Hummer
and you probably aren't famous
nor will you sing me some sappy song
about enchanted evenings
and that it'd be really freaky
if the chipmunks sang with you
but I'll nod anyway
and we'll ride off into the distance
of Starbucks.