To An Avid Collector Of Poems Poem by A Waltz For Zizi

To an avid collector of poems
Though you in mortal form I adore
Just look at me now, through my heart's telescope
when all dreams forget they are mine,
one returns, calling himself nightmare.

What dream is this, in which you are the glass
from where I sip my passions,
at the banquet of the blue feathered giants.
You are the flower they plant among the stars
in their ritual of love,
But why are you kissing the stars, green eyed venus?
Tip toe walking
alongside the river of flaws, you leave behind
a sculpted trail of broken hearts,
for me and my feet to wander.
You're the woman of my dreams
and yet, you love me.
What can be more unreal than this?
A kiss, of course
but, 'What is the price of one? ' I ask you
in the hour of the dream's departure.
'It's free' your lips answer
with a swift parade of fruit flavoured kisses.
'What am I to you then, a friend, a lover? ' I ask.
'Silly boy, your just a dream.' she answers.