Blossoming Sprite

In her hands, nests a boy,
soiled with white lies.
Relishing in warm palms and the
shaded affection of virgin nurture.

He squints out at rose colored cheeks
and mahogany toned eyes.
Ever the Sprite,
be thy Shepard.

In her hands, where he nests.
Violins motioned in sequence.
To sweep his heart.
With grace and love.

She holds him tightly
in her soft grip.
Where he is safe and warm.
In the forest of lies.

The Sprite carried trust,
high atop canopies.
Dark as lies.
Which bloom white.