Puppy-blind to the subtleties of light, Blush is but a blood rush,
tear is but a morsel in one moment.

No buts.

They are the epics at which my swarming phantasms cower:
‘O pure it is’, ‘O yes I see’  

They shriek, sick with a pleasure unbeknownst to me. Though I agree.

A magic wand is unmatched to the humble  tongue, conjures a flush upon your cheeks-
some secret you have let me keep.

I wonder often to myself if he remains a chased-up tail and chatter.
What does it matter.

Puppy-blind am I to no avail.
For you I yield the will to flatter.