how quickly one fantasy is punctured by another

saturday night riding up grand avenue with our knees
joints greased with liquor, we shared a vision of the possible past
we shared a vision of the body in pain.
my body. his hands pulling at my left side.
scratching and pulling as though trying
to undress, to interrogate,
he found me with his teeth and pulled again
asking questions by hand:

how quickly a fantasy is punctured
like a vein. a dream of blood vessels bursting
across his face
a vision of him, helpless
he was too weak to take me down
so i have forgotten him