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.