—MOONLIGHT BRIGHT AND THE KIDS DON’T CARE

 

Pixie

 

I can hear

the silent press

of snow on

your breath

as you sleep slanted

against my chest,

moonglow striped

on your lids,

lips somewhat pouted

but perfect,

tang of Barolo

still in the air,

hard hail falling

in my heart

as I watch you,

wondering which

dream gets to

direct you

in their script.

If you wake

sooner or later

it doesn’t matter,

because the

stars are all

patiently waiting.

Their light is

in your hair,

shimmering

like a thousand,

awestruck pixies.

There’s magic

in my arms,

light as the

sheerest sunshine.

Every fear’s eroded,

all my wishes granted,

whether dawn comes

as scheduled

or whether tonight

never ends.