truthful plastic

i prefer my reality
to be a little bit unreal:
a tidbit of a fantasy
a smidge of untold mystery
allows me to breathe 
just that much more easily.

while i cherish you 
with evergrowing passion
there's a part of me
that can only adore you 
as ken does his dear barbie:
in a perfect plastic way
replete with shine and gleam.

i cannot watch you brush your teeth
no i just can't take it in --
so much visceral truth to cope with
would weigh down my dainty frame.

and you cannot be my
bathroom buddy yet
for i fear that such travel 
on roads so full of gravel
would leave me fallen again
on skinned knees
picking bloody rocky lumps
out of my tender flesh.

you know "reality" is in
the front of the thesaurus
under existence- section 1.2
as though it was the basis for all
but contrarily "reality" lives on
the backburner of my brain
under heavy polymer shades.

it's not that i've no desire
to grow as close to you
as a pair of winding ivy plants
whose leaves are undetectable
from one unto the other--
rather it's my yearning for just that
and my knowledge of the pain
of feeling like only half an entity
when leaves start crumbling apart
that keeps this progression
unyieldingly slow.