if this is
delusion
let me
dream

the skull melts like a candle, dripping down onto the floor on long runs

if this is
dream
let me
sleep

the rose wilts in the case, longing for the bush outside the picturesque window

if this is
love
let me
be yours

his eyes glisten with barely restrained tears as she turns towards the door toward tomorrow

if this is
poetry
let me
write

the ink blots as it the quill scratches in the empty room sending plumes of nonsense spilling

if this is
real
let me
live

he drifts to sleep with her clutched tightly like the treasure he knows she is, invaluable and amazing

if this is
not
don’t tell
me