Pixie Dust

My, how I wish to dream.

Not the flighty, incomprehensible fairies of sleep.

Not the droughts which form gaps in your memory.

But the celestial sentinels which protect hope.

Those made of pixie dust and honey,

Dripping golden luxury on waiting lips.

Those which mold husbands and sculpt wives.

Those who define love, define success, define happiness.

I want to dream of love.

I want to dream of life.

 

This poem is about: 
Me
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