mirage

she feeds
you grapes, fans
you in the heat
while wearing
next to nothing.
she's your
cleopatra, your
queen, your
delilah.
she wants only
for you to be
happy
and loved.
it's not when,
but how often.
she leans down
to kiss you on
the lips
delivering
a red cherry
from hers,
slightly bitten
and dripping
red,
but then the phone
rings, waking
you up. it's your
ex asking where
her check is.