a boy made of trees and sunshine and the deep shadow greens.
I thought never to wander such woods again,
and their winding faerie paths.
To feel the laughter roll across my skin
like birds,
to taste kisses vital as air,
to hear the liquid sounds of foreign syllables
whisper their secrets to me
in the quiet dark
- the glory that is the forest.
I wanted to catch this faerie light on my fingertips,
have it sing back to me,
mold my feathers to its leaf patterns,
that fit so fine.
Whimsy floating like breeze around and past me.
But as I watched,
the forest dimmed in the same way I remembered.
My fingers closed
but the gold was gone,
shimmered away in the meanwhile
the way that faerie gold so often does,
a shine upon my fingers,
and then gone as if it had never been.
Oh, tell me a story-
tell me a story of summer forests
in the dead of winter
that stay even once the sun rises.
Tell me a story of kisses
that don't dissolve in the light of reason.
Tell me a story of love that does not know fear
of the unknown.