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I m traveling the silver filigree of the moon
picking the fruits on my way.
Bravery will come too soon
before I realize that gone is the day.
My archer is jaded in this purple dark.
His costume is made of violets and daffodils,
his musk painted by children we gently hark.
No harm will do huge dragon wings.
For that dragon is my silence absolute
as I flirt with the diamond sky
and pour the bees over my playing flute
made of honey and whispering by.
On this moon the coyotes howl my name,
image of you can hardly see
sewed in the lace of fairy dame,
paper thin on my window screen.
I have dreams never spoken out at laud,
in chambers of moons huge desire.
In lot of dreams you can count,
she dropped the pearls to one I admire.
Moon, you may have me on your palms any time you want,
in whitest tales ever singed.
For I m your archer jaded in the night
and the children we gently hark.
angel saviour
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