This is more than a music box,
more than a key shaped USB,
and more than a video game.
This is flittering fantasy wings
carrying you and I skyward,
harps playing Type O Negative.
This is a marriage imagined,
a cardboard bowling pin, a piñata
I have since punched a hole through,
and it bursts with wishes, revelations,
an end, a poem never read, a Christmas
present that has long since passed.