a book, a man and a flask may be
such lovely comfort_ certainly
the woven tongues and salted sweat
eternal love declared, and yet
the bottle's dry, the man is spent
the plot is dull, so from his tent
she flies away_as quick as she can
and finds herself another man.

our bodies not touching beneath sticky sheets_woven tongues

river willow deep-rooted in crumbling bank sways in flood's wild currents

an infant has no words_
the pleasure at mother's breast
warm sweet sticky food love

fickle Spring drenched in exotic perfumes departs for warmer climes

four-leaf clover pressed in dictionary_dried up good luck

gentle fog dissolves at sunrise leaving trees hung with brief diamonds