A delusion made accessible through the mind of its protagonist. An optimist, looking to the excitation, where two find gleeful in-roads, marking the occasion with the enticement of what could be.

I thought once I’d found a silver bullet, trapped in midnight. Swore I’d never let that go. Things end, often before they begin. A picturesque preview of a sort. A bitter aftertaste, punctuated by a scarlet dress.

Had I seen it then, the harrowed ebullience, I’d be older than I am. A tale of two women, with one heart cased in glass. If I reignited the flame, then might the gales abate. Burning bright as we should, again.

I’d spend all my zeal, all my straining deflected. The mirror portends the worst all ahead. Now, my thoughts in abandon, sent the bird to its nest. No conjured mirage, or oasis, is left.

I made such a racket, Serena set pace with the match. Made love but a target, Venus took me to task. Stayed inside of the lines, stepped outside of the court. There was no time for a verdict, my ace had underperformed.

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