lost in thinn aire
She is beautiful when she sleeps.
Gorgeous and sinuous when awake, there is a singular serenity which infuses her features in slumbrous repose.
Ah, yes. There comes a predictable welling up in my chest, a protective yearning.
Distantly my mind casts its warnings, though they grow more muffled as time passes.
She is wild. Untamed. I should not burden her with my sentiment, just as a hawk is all the more lovely for the lack of jesses.
Wherever she goes now, she has my thoughts.
Ever prone to covetous idolatry, I will encourage her near when I am able.
Create a roost for her to land, perhaps, from time to time.
Hunt with me. Allow me to bathe in your keen gaze as you pepper me with your incessant questions. Admire the lithe curves your form makes as you move and shift, lost in thought.
I have seen a sliver of your darkness; and yet, I cannot help but believe you make the world a better place wherever you tread.
For now, you are here. You are mine.
The magic of that is not lost on me.
Allow me, milady, once more, to show you my gratitude.
