"Some loves are not soft words but war cries—wild, untamed, and stirred with ruin. And in that chaos, we find a place some call home." - Poet
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babe I stumbled home— drenched in Guinness, soaked in guilt the apartment crumbles, a shattered ruin but you—your copper mane ablaze— my wild Morrigan a feral Celtic Faerie Queene waging war against the wreckage. You told me love was a lie stitched by leprechauns but your touch proves there’s truth in everything we break and rebuild. Chased the wail of a banshee tonight hoping to drown the shame gulped it down like bottom-shelf whiskey. Instead I christened the clover— four leaves or forty—who cares? — baptizing failures trembling hands at work. In this emerald world of lies forget unicorns rainbows and clovers— false luck's for fools and drunks. Luck’s a liar a Puca’s trick crumbling when touched. But you— wear that emerald dress like a battle cry. A storm inside a woman whiskey-fire eyes dare me to fall harder and I do. Every time. You are my reel— venomous alive an unseelie’s song the one thing that won’t let me escape. I’ve fed the snakes with my mistakes but still I kneel before you— a fool drunk on you more potent than any fairy brew. We aren’t saints but we’re still here— holding on to this wreckage with blood-stained hands. Pour another pint, love— let’s dance on glass fragments our broken dreams— our frenzied jig painting the town green— two misfits spinning through this carnival of Fiana fools. In the chaos in the ruin we find each other. No leprechaun guards our gold but you—my queen of chaos— are treasure enough to keep me alive. So here's to you, my wild Morrigan— in your eyes I find my home the only shelter I’ve ever known. in your smile, I find sanctuary and storm alike— for you, are my feral Celtic Faerie Queen.
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