The Mare

The mare sometimes neighs when the lids cover worldly sights.
Lines forming together making apparitions of fright,
Waving streams of energy releases, untouchable.
Oozing as if, but never mustering the reach.
Smiles amidst that which freezes movements for mentions of Poka-dot Perils.
The lips of Fitz
The lips of Cryst
The lips of Myst
Speaking paradoxical delights
Disguised as messages behind the unformed murals in twilight’s light.