a poem with no periods

Make of this what you will. I hug my pillow tight and hold it Hoping that the midget with wings will hear my plea But as I formulate that plea I can read the writing on the wall "There is nothing that I can do" I suppose to hope otherwise is foolish After all, free will is not a tool To be forged by anyone but God And the midget is just a commercial god His power is limited to selling roses, other flowers and fine chocolates; Moses had more power And a wish for that pillow to become human At least human enough to wake up next to, hug and return that hug is ungrantable It is a wish not for the gods to grant, but for me to pursue