The cobbled stones, awash by moon
The drunken laddies that sip and swoon.
To gaze upon the midnight beaut
Would parish ones will to that of Newts.

Thus lady’s hair does fall much like
A waterfall of pure moonlight.
With eyes of jewel and crystal light
Sets ones soul ablaze and heart, bright.

With opulent lips, does she possess
Such voice of tinkling bells distress.
With wisps of silver at loves cheeks
Gold flecks do twinkle at brows peek.

To tame such beauty is hopeless venture
Too many a drunk lad, sweet and tender.
To gaze upon midnights supple dream
Is to be more than merely heard, but seen.

I know I should be sad at the thought of what we had being washed away,
But a clean slate doesn’t sound too bad
And I brought my umbrella anyway.

What do you say?

If you dwell
On the things you
WISH
You were doing

The things you
ARE
Doing
Will never be
Enough.

A sea of lush trees and mountains sprout out from her eyes and tickle the fringes of her lashes.

Each golden curl to every fiery, auburn swirl of hair snaps with electricity, like firecrackers bursting against a dawn smeared sky.

Long, aristocratic fingers with smooth palms that she weaves through the air, accentuating her every word.

She walks, breathes, and laughs Magick.

I’d follow her over every fallen log in our overgrown fantasies. I’d swing over every stream, swim up every waterfall, and dance on our bare feet until our toes were full of twigs and stones.

I’d skip with her through the cosmos, my shining ray of sunlight.

I often dream of a place
Far from home
Deep in the woods
I’m sure you know.
Away from the people
The buildings
The noise
Where the witches dance
And the fae rejoice
In their absence.