You are the women of my woods,prominent ghosts in the mess of needles. I swear you beckon me to explore deeper,into your tresses your pale fingertips. Maybe you are more devious than I realise,aglow with faery dust that paints you a shimmering white. I dreamt the moon knew she could use your skin,use your flesh to tempt the wandering into hidden lands. Maybe you are the culprit who makes me stagger,my vision blurs as I gaze along your be into your branches above.(I could swear that you are reaching for me). You've made me lovesick with the forest and lakes of Ontario. Women of my woods,I beg,keep me lost.
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