A Nymph's Words

Your lips, softly, let go
your words like smoke rings
gently filtering through thought,
lifting to the top of the room, where,
secretly, they hover and shift,
their pale forms playing with light like music.

I look up, and on the ceiling
I find your magnum opus,
written so delicately
only you and I can see it,
only when my eyes are next to yours.

You sign your name in smoke
and send it off to fairyland
where you and I went as children
to ward off enemies in a hollow tree.

I go there still
and sometimes find you,
still in your dress of papery flowers,
White and fragrant
and smouldering with the smell of longaevi.

In silence, all hesitate for
The wafting puff of your words,
to give them their lives in story.
I wait too, seeking with patience
my nymph--my soul--
to animate me with words.