This eve there is a pristine magic,
It floats softly on the still air of night,
A potion vapor by desire’s sorceress,
Reflected in the moon’s golden light.
Held not by man or woman or beast,
As dandelion seeds drift on parasols,
The whimsical spirit wavers to want,
Shunning all but love’s whispered calls.
There wanders it through heart and soul,
Caught in a dream catchers spider thread,
To flame the passion tangled there,
Of entwined bodies on a silken bed.
©2011, Donald Harbour
Donald Harbour Poetry 
This is beautiful!
LikeLike
As dandelion seeds drift on parasols,
Lovely image! And I love your festive holiday blog. This is my favorite time of year!
LikeLike
Very fetching hat, but you could have smiled. Have a lovely Christmas.
LikeLike
Viv, thanks for the comment. I am not smiling because I’m having a Christmas shopping anxiety attack. It causes excruciating cramps in my bank account and credit cards. Two daughters, granddaughter and wife, enough said. Plum Pudding and a figgy cake for you darlin’.
LikeLike
The first line sets the mood for the poem, upon which you build and expand from the natural and almost spiritual and lead us to the carnal. I almost feel as if I am looking through a camera cutting to different aspects of the night, starting with the outside and then ending up in the lovers’ bed. Nicely done.
-Nicole
LikeLike
nicely done my friend….happy trails heading to Dec
LikeLike
Potent stuff.. love the dandelion bit.
LikeLike