A Rhetorical Question

You were in my dreams tonight,
You held my hand and smiled,
Clucked your liquid tongue,
Shook your head into butterflies,
And your hair distracted me
When you asked me in soft rhetoric,
"You still love me, don't you?"
I wanted to look away then,
But I blushed into cherry blossoms,
And fell into flying bedsheets,
I was your dandelion in spicy winds,
My lies were scattered
Under the streetlights,
Over the pavestones,
On the car-seats,
And spun into forests.
I still visit their fruits
And distill wines the color of your kiss,
They taste of broken promises and half-finished songs
But they set my chest on fire,
And I am cold.
So, so cold.

Yes, I still love you.

Image Source: Delawer Omar