flights of fancy

Some nights, dreams're conspiring
to fly me beyond clouding
when should I be retiring,
surrounded by night's shrouding--

Instead I'm up creating,
lusty metaphors flying
toward the crow moon elating,
all around verbose skying--

Come to me, word purveyor,
taste my kiss in your diction;
I'll reward you, soothsayer,
my dreamscapes tend to fiction--

Flights of eve not forgotted
when morning sunshine ringers,
my limbs still feel besotted,
night-flying affair lingers--

To keep it I'm desiring,
gives the light better meaning--
bewitching and beguiling,
conspiratorially dreaming.

For the weekend, Kerry challenged the Real Toads to tackle the Celtic quatrain. I cheated a little in the last line. Writer's fancy!