The last time I saw her, she was dancing with the moon brilliantly bending, tending most tenderly each fleeting fairy that fairly reflected the light of dearest Luna. And that she could do this at all, however smally sensual she in contrast to the immensely glowing orb so high above— that she could so enthrall me, being far too zealously adoring of my fair heavenly love who has no never, not once, failed to please me—that she I say could dancing deftly fill my vision with grandeur beyond compare—that alone was enough to ensure my lasting love, my eternal adoration, for although she is gone now, so very far from me, she will always remain close, enshrined within this heart, my shining one my artist beyond compare, staring at the falling snow as she danced beneath the moon.
there are strands of time that are effortless to follow as they wrap themselves gently meaningfully around my heart tugging teasing me forward to discover in the midst of all that is common around me that which is truly majestic
those moments now bid me pause and wonder at the pleasure of far more than a memory but an enduring vision of sensual you in summer enchanted, like the kiss of a sunlit day blessed by the barest glimpse of the eager adoring moon
Brightly lithesome she dances across the sky my joyful lunar maid, my all her winsome ways ever appalling the jealous sun so somber and staid, and she unwilling to stay his commanded course playfully japes with a rhyme.
How haughtily he cringes, wincing at her smiles her lips teasing in mirth birthing yet another game to play, a song to sing my jocund jesting one testing the stodgy sun with each twirling reel feeling fully alive and sublime.
“Do you know,” I ask, as she passes again barely glancing down, “how much I adore you, mo gealach àillidh my fair fae one on high?” “Then rise,” she says, treading the night “and know the truth of time.”