• I like you, he said.
    And that was all:
    no flowers of suppressed love,
    no chocolates to sweeten the blow.
    There were no fireworks erupting
    from the dirty soil of the Earth
    to celebrate the final day.

    You expect a dream,
    and find you will:
    a fantastic fantasy.
    Unattainable, unreachable, and unknown.

    An arm grasping at the feathered sleeve
    of an unnamed phantom.
    You attempt to entice it:
    beckon its cold arms around you,
    but he is too strong
    and you merely float skyward.
    Through the angelic mist,
    past the magnetic globe,
    until you arrive at your bed.

    I like you, death said.