affection

In dreams you woo the unicorn by moonlight,

shorn of its wings, but galloping silent hooves

over roof top tiles - then soaring mile-high

in a night sky, where the nimbus clouds are hills.

You fill your childish eyes with the sight of toys

employed to suit the whimsy of Victoriana,

granting your commendation for the coy cupids,

stupidly flushed, and fluttering at bedstead heads.

You spread a demure display of tasteful gowns,

down from hangers, freshly washed and white -

blighting my hopes to see you strip to a razzle-

dazzle petticoat with scarlet panties.

It's wearisome to play that silly game,

when (clearly) you're a virgin but in name.