Lick the pixie dust from your lips.
You’re laughing at the Unicorn’s warning to be careful;
“That fairy’s not to be trifled with.”
But it’s your last night in Chicago and you want to revel in
the magic, drink in the jazz, throw caution to the wind.
You’re not going to heed the warning, succumbing
to the danger that you’re in.
“Isn’t this fantastic?” You shout over the saxophone player
while you’re sitting at the corner of the bar.
“Killer.” Whispers the pixie queen as you collapse into her arms.
