Oh no, no as I am standing naked, dreamily gazing out of a window, Kathleen Turner will not creep up behind and surprise me, lead me back to bed by my cock for more hot Florida sex. She did this to William Hurt in ‘Body Heat,’ even though she is now well past her prime, no, she will probably still not do this for me…bitch!!

And there is no way Beyonce will cast her eye down on me in her audience, wink and smile because she finds me devastatingly virile and handsome. For that I am demolished inconsolable and feel very silly for even thinking so.

I will not author a novel revered by all, for this I am a realist, and even though I smile wryly I still feel a little deflated.

I will never enthral an audience with an emphatic virtuoso guitar solo, and yes I know, I know but I still bitter sweetly chuckle so.

My timing will always be flawed, and because of this my joke telling will suffer and the next teller will be the object of my hatred and jealousy for getting the laughs I never did.

And I will not
Sing like a lark.
Leap like a stag.
Swim like a salmon.
Run for president.
Have a Willy that swings.
Be wanted by someone special.
Hold; grip you tightly in my arms.
Stroke your soft silken lissom hair.
Kiss the lids of your cool sapphire blue pool eyes.
Get to breathe in all that is the wonder of you.
Taste the supple warmth of your fragrant skin.
Get to skip heartbeat miss you, as soon as you turn to walk away.

But in the bleak dark hours of a cold silent merciless night, I will look at my lighted reflection in a black heartless window and my eyes will turn in, they will look long, hard and deep past an empty joyless soul without pausing down into the abyss and suddenly I will realise that I am so very, very lonely.

And when I am finished there will be no rapturous applause.

But I will continue to dream.

And these are some things that will or will not happen.