Paul Grant

Fantasy

I will arrive
Unannounced

I will greet 
With smile
And a muttered line

I will hold her face 
Like a dead bird

I will kiss her lips
Dry

And I will strip her
Down 
Make love
To her

The night 
Will be naked,
Her head will tilt
Towards oblivion
As I run sandpaper between her 

It will be so perfect,

Even I don’t 
Believe me.