Nightcaps

I wish I had some magic mushrooms. Just a handful of fruiting fungal bodies that glow in the gloom of a damp, cool night and cast a pixie spell through a trail too short for satiation. And mere caps of mycorrhizal exuberance that gleam through the grass as painted frogs hop away in rude splashes. The air is heavy with powdered wings that flutter in your face and the swift flights of hungry nighthawks. And a moment of stillness and silenced torches is all it takes to flood the path with the soft light of a thousand toadstools as they feed on the remains of the day.

I wish I had some magic mushrooms. Explosive puffballs with the power to blow back the clock and recapture every moment lost to the heat of cold words. Pale buttons still too small to reveal their gills but more than round enough to recall the curve of your cheek and the gentle pleasure of firm knobs. And an emerald cup that flares up to release an excess of spores that settle on and devour the rotten traces of a recent past. I wish I had a magic mushroom that could grow to cover our heads and hide two troubled bodies from the glare of green-eyed feelings. And in its shade, we shall slip on a bed of dry tears and fall into each other's arms with not a pinch of hope for return and regret.

Comments

[OrOr]

the green glow fueled by death and decay....lovely !