you saw her in a dream with poetry
tattooed on her back, her manika
eyes reflecting an eclipse

you used to think she lived in
the city of angels with
makeshift wings stapled
on her spine

and she would sing at dusk,
serenading the night
with moon-kissed medleys

but even though she was just a delusion,
a fragment of your reveries that used
to believe in bottled magic,

you'd rather tuck sunflowers behind her ear
and sing along to her songs than wake up
in the morning with teardrops on your pillow

and constantly rummaging through a
mausoleum of stars that were buried
in skyscrapers, looking for an
unfinished love song that you heard
while you were sleeping