why can illusion not
synthesize in the dreams
my subconscious paints
the way it constitutes my
gullible awakened perception?
sprinkle fragments of light from the moon
and pinches of a powder made
from the innocence of a child
on top of your exuded love
that I inhale into the
deepest parts of my lungs
Fearful that one day it might escape
and the disillusioned state of my
inner self will see nothing but
the stars weeping
as you walk away from me.