She walks on clouds of ombre
and touches silver rings
her skirt a dozen roses
surrounding pretty things
she laughs and golden apples fall
2 covers forming a flimsy wall
Which once was flesh and pulse

her lovers call her
many things
long, and short, and thick
she comes in dreams
and quiet times
and rainstorms come in quick

she has a castle in the sky
the sunset is her bed
in war her wells will sometimes dry
when torn souls belief is dead

the universe encircles her
like ribbons in her hair
it’s starbursts set to still occur
in all the joy we dare

Who is this woman, free and fair?
a Fantasy, I swear