don't think i've ever posted this one

although maybe it's cause i never quite nailed the wording -- anyway, here it is in all its rough draft glory:

My Fairy Godmother Wears Versace

I tell him twenty-one year olds are sexy
and sophisticated. He seems skeptical
of such a transformation, one that happens
while we sleep breathing the stroke
of midnight. A Versace clad
fairy godmother will wave her wand
over the length of my sleeping form,
then flit elsewhere- perhaps in pursuit
of a tall skinny café latte (no foam).

I will wake with an impeccable French twist,
cotton turned silk, wool to angora and a craving
for a lightly buttered croissant alongside a café au lait.
He won’t know me when he wakes, yawning
turning to find that I have been thieved
away in the middle of the night
by the turn of a year, leaving someone
he’s never seen before.