Soft, green vortex, beckoning
tender brush of eyelashes on skin
The lush hue of May looms
on butterfly wings

Fleeting as a sigh
and faint your fragrance
Of feline grace your footing
and elvenkind your posture

leaves
the wish to dive
beneath the surface
to touch more than skin

My mind is ablaze, with clumsy
step I attempt the dance
am bound to trip
to burn the moths, you beckon

A hot sensation
rolling down my throat
You fill this night to the brim
and I drink in full

Gazing into the eyes of my Absinthe.