The nights are just too long, when the frost of winter covers the bare branches in their beautiful white sleeves, as if mocking the virgin beauty that they try to hide in their dark shroud.
But these dark nights....they are the meadows where we meet, lying among the yellow blooms, inhaling the fragrance of the summer breeze, watching fluffy fairies dance across the blinding blueness of the skies.....a place where nothing exists, except you and me, our moist breaths mingled in mellifluous poetry.
I paint my dreams in poetic ink.
© Manic Sylph 2016
YOU ARE READING
You Make Me Spill My Ink
Non-Fictiona Dialogue with my Muse....The diary of My Dreams and My Aches.
