My muse has green eyes.
Like the absinthe, that
Drove the mad poets of
The old centuries past,
To their creative ecstasies.
Like the Leanan Sidhe
Inspiring my imagination,
To burn so fierce, so bright,
So it near consumes me.
I get lost in chartreuse,
In the sparkle of peridot.
In the Forest green
Grass green
Emerald green
Absinthe green
Of those eyes.
















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