by Mike L. Utley “I found thee in a faerie copse…” “Hmm?” she murmuredHer gaze caught somewhereIn the rainy neon night-worldBeyond the coffee shop windowHer fingers weightlessFeather-likeIn my handEtherealFurnace-hot “I found thee in a faerie copseAlighting on each flower fairAnd as I ‘proached thee in the hopesOf snaring thee in lovers’ ropesThou disappeared into thin air…” She …







