we could've had saturn

In my restless dreams,

 I am not wicked and you are not cruel.

 We are melding and gentle—

 life has not yet molded us,

 beneath the blue light

 of the television screen.

 We lie, tired, under its glare,

 softly resting on the sheets

 a saccharine scene where

 you hold me in your arms,

 a grip kindred to worship,

 found in the way your fingers

 find hold on my thighs.

It’s true, somewhere deep inside,

I know what it feels like

to be held and touched by you

tenderly, truly.

False neurons spin false narratives;

I’d live a lifetime of lies

so long as they were ours.