Fantasy

Silently, all night, the young man fought
To reclaim his own mind.
The wine bottle, voluptuous on the nightstand,
Called out to him, begging to taste his kiss.
The bag of marijuana in his desk
Clung to his memory like the little red hairs
On the aromatic buds.
The cell phone, with all the names
Of friends who might be strangers
And strangers who might be friends
Sat next to him on his bed.
He dare not touch.
Instead, he took up a pen
And waited until the sun rose
To begin again.