Not all poems are poem-shaped. Not all stories are story-shaped. An abstraction then. For the things that aren’t really anything at all but are still true.
I fell in love with you tomorrow and we made love in a rose-coloured room at the end of the world.
There was no issue of blood between us and our union was a perpetually blithesome affair.
We had two lovely children, Two halves of a boy and half of two girls.
We were happy, we were perfect and the skulking shadows of sin and sadness fled from us.
I loved you with the very quiddity of me and your love was a guiding light to my soul.
But you will never know these things because the light of dawn steals dreams from their dreamers and makes the strange and beautiful things mundane in its unforgiving glare.
Ergo, non sequitur.