five seven five

Not Real
Am I real to you?
Or a known flight of fancy,
a dream best ignored?

I'm made to fade fast,
girl sculpted from sand, and won't
be here tomorrow.

I sit on the beach,
to die with the next high tide.
I wanted to stay.

Disembodied
Heart consumed by flames,
emotion no longer hers.
They thought she was done,

but had forgotten-
ash dances wild in the wind;
her love's free, not gone.

Haiku Betty