What I fancy
is what I do not have.
All stored in drowning drains of desires
floating in brittle baskets of my brain.
They live inside me,
cannot survive without me,
die disillusioned sometimes
due to the frivolity of my fancies.
What I fancy -
too fanciful beyond imagination.
No wonder, I lose them to eternity,
floating specs of dust
let loose in the horizon.
My illegitimate wishes
undeserving of my stature,
burn forever in the glistening whirlpool of creation.