A Rhetorical Question

You were in my dreams tonight,

You held my hand and smiled.

Clucked your liquid tongue,

Shook your head into butterflies.

And your hair distracted me

When you asked me in soft rhetoric,

"You still love me, don't you?"

I wanted to look away then,

But I blushed into cherry blossoms,

And fell into flying bed sheets.

I was your dandelion in spicy winds,

My lies were scattered

Under the streetlights,

Over the pavestones,

On the car-seats,

And spun into forests.

I still visit their fruits

And distil wines the colour of your kiss,

They taste of broken promises and half-finished songs

But they set my chest on fire,

And I am cold.

So, so cold.

Yes, I still love you.