Jun 4
A Pixie Prowls
There you were,
Standing in the doorway,
Pink shades and arms in a pose,
Like a prowling pixie,
Waiting to pounce on me
And sprinkle that magic dust over me,
Making me levitate.
Feet a foot above ground,
Arms around you,
Attached,
Burying my face in your golden locks
And your warm, pulsating neckline.
Lips to skin,
To taste.
Freckles to connect,
Like a never-ending pathway
To the place that lies behind
Those bright blue eyes.
An uncertain look,
Biting that thick lower lip
While exhaling Camels.
You grab me by the pant line,
Drag me to the edge,
Smiling,
Push me to the covers
And break me into pieces
As you speak your certain creed:
“This is the way.”
- Almost Scott, 2026