Titania’s Meadow

Arms entwined, we spin like hay bale rolls in late summer’s arms—early autumn’s cradle where we recite yesterday’s dream then set them aside, looking for tomorrow’s aspiration in droopy clouds that feed imagination with the essence of wispy, cumulus mana. Interweaving lavender, spray roses, daises, and baby’s breath, I add foxglove, bluebells columbines and forget-me-nots, I fashion a fairy floral ring for your head, place it on your crown, as a tribute to the spring of our relationship free, uncluttered by vows. We lay where deer once matted down grass drift into the sleep of lovers who eternalize moments and relive them as we slumber so sprinkle my body with berries when I wake embrace me and allow purple-red juice to tattoo our naked difference before we part.