Chills.

I'm not so dull-witted, nor am I blind
But seeing these matters in moments of trust
When we've been aligned and rather entwined
And are dealing in alchemy, this is a must

Not lacking, indeed, I do not partake
Of anything, without a wan wondering first
Ingredient love, and what would they make
And eye am, of course, appealing this thirst

In search of horizons, rivers so wet
And wonderful, digging our toes through the dirt
Laid down by wind off a western sunset
Lying abed when the world would invert.

This girl and her prose.

Let me tell you of this girl and her prose

The glasses she perched on the end of her nose

Hair set in curls, soft and wanly quite red

She looked like a library perched on its head


She endlessly quoted from tolkein et al.

How mystics and kings and the devil all fall

Banners and woodland and mountains unfurled

A trail of adventure that scissored her world


Yet listening, I couldn't help but lament

That we've given up all our dragons for lent

And our fish, unlike the ones in her book

All end their lives juxtaposed by a hook


You could ask me if I knew where she's now

I'd toss up my shoulders and wrinkle my brow

She's gone on, disapeared in the murk

Into the dark where our memories lurk


Still I see magic whereever I go

There's hardly a dam that could hold back this flow

Endless the landscape dreamed up by this lass

The places we go when it's our time to pass.