The Fey Fey Fey
My soul braved the exotic realms of pan,
Magick, nymphs, the greenery
the lush damp forests call to me
Singing in folk hymns. Braids of the Druids.
The Pagans. Wands forged from ancient woods.
Yew, willows, oak.
Opulent fields of Celtic Lore.
Rings of pixies. My fae boy. Pink, scarlet, budding
Androgynous plump mouth. Moon milk skin.
Lavender in my hair. Sun speckled cheeks I adorn.
We lay on giantess lily pads
NYMPHAEACEAE
We saunter on these.
Limbs can tangle. Clouds infused with poppy oozing milk
He born of water energy me of air.
Nymph-like dauphine of music and intellect.
Him resembling the sirens of the sea. Death and allure.
Skin of pallor resembling sea shells
He touches me first like babbling streams until he transmutes
Into waterfalls and I fall into ecstatic fits of delight
Within afternoons filled with entwined loins, limbs and heartstrings.
Rolling in grasses verdant, laughing like children in a frenzy.
Sipping on berry wine
Dancing under blood moons.
Crying over each-others beauty so harsh yet delicate and delirious
It becomes al the much to marvel.
We are immaculate. One with the divine.
We are the Nephilium
Angelic yet mischievous
Misunderstood by all who think nature can be stolen from
without a returned gift.
We weep, make love, heavy sighs for what was once lost.
Our bodies will never age. Dining on silver and golden apples,
Drinks from golden sputtering springs. Occult dances around
Ritualistic fires forged outside of time.
In that moment when your fingers ebbed and disappeared inside of me
you became everything the car the radio station my pale knees
twitching in the hot blue dark like moths
singeing against the light time after time, after time.
Your skin melted there with my pink swollen one
and trailed out infinity into that parking lot
you became everything the car the radio station my pale knees
twitching in the hot blue dark like moths
singeing against the light time after time, after time.
Your skin melted there with my pink swollen one
and trailed out infinity into that parking lot
I don't want to write about him because he will end up not becoming real real real.
Scared to call him a boy blue because then what ever future would he even have.
You are not death like the others were with the snake eyes and velvet sighs. You are perhaps silver or golden.
I bought you a Salinger but
Not Holden
He can't be one.
I am already replaying the monochrome shore magic in my head and the coins in the fountain, and maybe I liked the idea of being on my knees w you but time could never tell and he could probably float away like the other ones did and leave me shattered with my three of spades pressed to my face.
My thrice of swords
Premonition that you might hurt me
Or maybe that the other hurt me more before
And these pieces are maybe not for loving.
Just
The
Doll
Parts
Scared to call him a boy blue because then what ever future would he even have.
You are not death like the others were with the snake eyes and velvet sighs. You are perhaps silver or golden.
I bought you a Salinger but
Not Holden
He can't be one.
I am already replaying the monochrome shore magic in my head and the coins in the fountain, and maybe I liked the idea of being on my knees w you but time could never tell and he could probably float away like the other ones did and leave me shattered with my three of spades pressed to my face.
My thrice of swords
Premonition that you might hurt me
Or maybe that the other hurt me more before
And these pieces are maybe not for loving.
Just
The
Doll
Parts
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