Lucid

My muse has green eyes
Like the absinthe that
Drove the mad poets of
The old centuries past
To their creative ecstasies.
Like the leannán sídhe
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.