I know she isn’t real

This woman standing before me

Her dress made from spider’s webs and sunlight

Moonbeams and morning dew

Lifting and swirling in the slight evening breeze

Out here in the shaven fields

Where the smell of sun-baked earth fills my mind

She is all around me

Her phantom fingers touching my hand

Her zephyr robe like butterfly wings

Wrapping around me, insubstantial as smoke

I feel her lips on my cheek, my neck

Tasting the sweat on my skin

And my knees go weak, falling to the grass

Hiding in the tall stems and crushing vetch and clover

Until the scent intoxicates me

Taking leave of my senses even as she caresses me

Her laughter fills my ears

The sultry sound of bees and insect wings

Heat-haze and animal lust

As I give myself unrestrained to the spirit of summer