The Bite of a Klondike

A silver cloak of Arthurian legend

with the Nordic lyre of Runes...

Unwrapped in the biting

cold of a milky melt,

covered in hard, dark, shell

of chocolate...

a brittle break of ice floes

and Aristocracy, once known.

I bit in...

candlelit envy

of a partaking,

misunderstood as

sweet flowing cream

encircled the wrists.

A cow formed in the silver cloak

without a wrestle. A hedgehog

in misty melt of pagan mist...

Avalon calls in a druid dream,

fluid as juicy remembrance

biting at the bit; the bark

collapses in cream and a licking...

a paper fragment

of a dancing palate

melts

to a clock of

sleeping babe...

a pig in nestle smiles;

sleeping sure solace

of a delectable future.

bang! crumple and kiss

in the shadow of a

flickering flame,

swanning dive

in a bracken pond...

The crickets sang for me-

those who remember

a stock in trees and

wood hugging.

I believe in miracles,

and magick...

i don't wonder why.