Drunk like Dionysos

Drunk like Dionysus on his best days,
I bore down on pale flamingo wings, into her waiting arms.

Thick vegetation was covering our flight, the air was light,
the sweet scent of fallen petals, mixing with hers,
she held my hand, my gaze, my mind, she was leading the way,
and as we stepped out of the cool shady green,
the sound of music came riding the young evenings fiery crest.

Among the roots of the oldest, we lay down for rest,
curled up against each other, limbs entwined, hearts pounding.
Night crept on but held no sleep for us, only dreams, enough,
two became one, until dawn shut mother night’s uncountable eyes.

--

For my muse. While she is in Stuttgart, I have to get drunk more often.
Life is nothing without details, have a look at fullview. Even better, have a look at a detail here.