are not attractive to the man she adores
but that is the only reason she adores him
in the first place

she would not consider him a catch or a man or the love of her life
if he got up early to take a train to the field she lays in

or often called upon her, not only with the
sweetness and charm he retains
but with eagerness and pleasantry, both sincere as a fox craves
a good bird in his jaw, but with spright instead of haste
and with the devotion of rapture without rancour

his eyes are like a tray of a kitten’s sharp teeth
latching onto the pretty bird of his fancy,
and all of her hope infused in her blood only accumulates
as he sinks in for more sorrow
‘til the last grind that never does seem to come

he tries to peel parts of her he doesn’t like
she lets him

a fruit without any husks is not safely kept and often rotten
to grow, you must protect yourself from damage, yet allow yourself
to be bruised enough for simple sweetness
that lays sincerely inside