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Sam

Sam is my imaginary girlfriend,
She lives deep inside,
Down deep within.
Sam is airy and beautiful,
And has lots of friends,
And there's never, for Sam,
Quite enough men.
Sam spends her day drinking orange juice and champagne,
She likes small white toast,
Topped with marmalade.
Sam wonders how she could be so afraid,
As the other Imaginaries weren't built so frag-aile.
Sam dreams of a family with nice modern lines,
Built in structured expectations,
That aren't doom or sublime.
Sam has a good life,
Stored away in my mind,
You can hear her screaming, no,
Singing,
In perfect time.


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