Once in a while
fold back the colours of final dreams
and enter behind
the moonstones you find there concealing
a land of angelic
enchantment where spiritual dancing
is always allowed,
marking sensual rapture's advance
around angels.
Seek Flora's cloud
Queen of the Feys, she of the stardust
smile, gossamer dress,
finest of ribbons sweet fragranced with musk,
her rose-petalled hair
in fair coiled cascades hung in loose curls
bound up in brightness,
is there now, waiting to be unfurled
for your delight.
Ask her to dance,
as she sways, ethereal music
embroiders her glance,
helps you unwind, entrances and loosens
a locked earth-bound view
and mystically opens Togetherland
which, fairy-hued
unfolds as you hold her angelic hand
outstretched to you.
Dancing with angels
Is high on the list when poets fancy
time spent with the muse
and not to be missed they take a chance,
to step on Fey's floor
and take her in dance, feeling magic occur
as fairy-bliss heightens
will make nothing else seem to be worth
more than just this.
Wishful thinking for me. Beautiful idea.