Dear Mister Fantasy

Take away all my pain, self-imposed or otherwise.
Take away the dread, doubts and limits.
Make me swallow bottled, distilled pleasure again and again;
in a vain attempt to forget the regret that came before.
And will come afterwards.
Make my heart hollow so it may no longer feel,
my mind free so it won’t think.
Ablaze it with lust, free limbs and opened loins.
Make me do what I’d swore I would do
in the deepest realms of my dreams.
Let me be the subject springing from
the lips of everyone who sees me.
Let me be what women may envy
and men may desire.
And women desire and men may envy.
Let them be held captive,
enslaved by everything that is me
and nothing that isn’t.

Make them see me in lustful vision
ice cream rippled in dark, mysterious chocolate.
Decadent and smooth,
lush and bold.
Melting to the heat of touch.

It’s sweetness thick and mellow,
tantalizing and teasing.
Lingering deliciously on the back of the tongue
just before going down. And like that ice cream
on the hottest day, they’ll work harder to prevent it
from escaping their lips.
And they’ll relish that labor,
adore that labor,
savor that labor.
Deeming it their absolute favorite
for it is the most rewarding.

Dear Mr. Fantasy,
I drink to you. As well to all
my mental merges
of fantasy into reality and vice versa.
All my fevers, all my dreams
with real consequences.
All my desires, rash decisions and impulsive
judgements born out of one second whims.
They drink to you as well.
For these wondrous things and I are nothing
without each other –
and we are nothing without you.

Shontay Luna was born in Chicago and is trying, in her own quietly desperate way, to make her city known for something besides pizza and Al Capone.

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