Waiting, I hang out with desires and fantasies.
Waiting, I wear the crown of dreams.
It contains the perfect me.
Anticipation hides –
so they say –
every joy’s best part.
I oppose, for I know it’s all a trim:
dreams bear no anchor.
Blood gushes through trials, cycles that are complete.
Waiting, I role-play with my sheeny crown
keeping my muses close
and their plots afar.