Oh course I ache for real love, 
but does it ache for me?
Does it want to be consumed by my thoughts,
written down in poem after poem,
chased like wolf after rabbit?
The relationship should be reciprocal,
personify what you cannot obtain. 
The mere thought that the two of us will forever run in circles is maddening.
My eyelids will droop after a long day,
head nodding back into the pillow while an anthology falls on my chest,
and I’ll flit off to never neverland, a place of practical situations and magic for every dilemma and time for dinner and gowns at dinner and woe is she and the mad dash and extraverted introverts and woman and man and men and 
I sit up suddenly, an excess of ass sweat on the couch, the winter winds doing nothing to chill my body.