Magic exists,

I discovered in a soft pink room

in a 20-minute dream

fuzzy heart trace gracing my head

prisms of sunshine falling from zzzzzzz

I awoke restored in the province of fairy

knowing the world magical to be.

And to that girl,

Makenna Rose,

who makes me believe magic exists–

Clad in pink, clasping to spires

She looks to the open sea

Sun a tangerine orb of fire

From guile affectation she's finally free

That which fizzles here on planet's castle

The institutions of music it pervades

They mistake beautiful for fragile

Forgetting her heart is of the glade

Let us together the three sing

in full-lunged triumph to their glower

speeding night to Muse we cling

They forget that warmth, kindness, are power.

to my gorgeous friend, happy late birthday

let Tolkien's light again this year forge your way. <3

Limoncello

A bottle, geometrical glass, its mystical contents contained by wax dripped seven years past.

In it there's brusque matching dresses, white foldout chairs rows upon rows, the beating sun.

An afternoon slathered in sunscreen, swingset haven to our exhilaration.

Crisply: "Be our DJ," and the radio propelled in and out of midday traffic.

Sometimes I wonder where they went– 

and if there's no way of getting them back

what happens when the seal is broken, the bottle empty?