She floats just slightly off the ground,
ignores emails but thinks
she’s answered them, lives
in a neverland breathing a potion
rarer than oxygen, more refined,
an elixir of the gods.  Even her dreams
are epic–white lions by her side,
her guardians, her coat of arms.

A smile that radiates, lights
an aura around her.  Her shape
conjures an ancient fertility
goddess someone found in a tomb,
blew the dust from.

Mere mortals nightly pray
for such dreams,
such magic.