Pixie Dust Poetries

By Linda J. Wolff

pixie dust in the air
and the masculine murmuring of your voice
filter softly into my ears,
We awaken morning slumber.

your fingertips trace
poetries onto my forehead and you curl
around my waist, a palm fern
furling around with tentacle arms,
standing along the pathway
after a cold night of curling
From the chilling fog.

arms pull in tighter, seducing sun
blankets us in warmth
and like the fingers stretched
you’ve drawn me into your forest
With passion, I can’t see.

but I can write it
in the style of free verse and words
of my satisfied mind.

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