I Dream

I dream that there is just one man
out there
who isn't a Nigerian scammer
pretending
to be a famous rock star
with a crypto wallet ID
because he loves me so much
and wants to meet me.

There must be one
who would be the man
so I don't always have to.

Perhaps he would look like Jesus
bearded and a little wild,
and make me rethink
saying "fuck it"
to ever wanting to put myself out there
again
to take a chance.

He would wrap his arms around me
from behind
and bury his face in my hair
while whispering sarcasm in my ear,
enough to rival my own.

It wouldn't matter
that my breasts are nothing but reconstructions
from all the surgeries
and chemo--
he would explore their curves,
and hideous scars
anyway.

There just has to be one,
who isn't a gay mama's boy
lurking behind
his wedding ring, I wore
for way too long.

Does such a man
exist?

Maybe,
that's why
some things are called fantasies--
reserved for daydreams
(and night dreams)
to play out what isn't,
with a spectacular ending,
of my choosing
before the alarm clock rings
and I awaken
to get ready for another workday.