The Fantasy of Truth

In the middle of the not knowing of knowing, distancing from the delusion, the fantasy of truth, foolish love and the memory of innocence, and a virtual explosion of colour and incandescence, intended and dreampt of, closing in to the magic of her beauty, surrendering to the captivation, remembrance of her irregular touch, my heart smiles on her still, and is at home with her,and it all comes to the point where I wonder and question the thought of memory, and if memory should consider the present, if a memory is a consideration of the past, she in her armour of status and acceptance and convention, and I consider the darkness in her sky, but no, I sense that there isn't, and yesterday was a dream that forgot about tomorrow, when there was no real tomorrow, the picture was exactly of the moment, the focus was on the now, and then on a frosty Friday, in the barbed wire cafe, the ruins of affection controlled by insincerity, and in the middle of not knowing, distancing from delusion, the fantasy of truth.