Like too many kisses on a loose tooth, a butterfly dances.
the air like syrup and gossamer, with clouds out of time’s grip
scudding the blue raiment of the world, with happy gnats flapping
in the teeming as shoots of fennel curl in the copious soliloquy
of the infinite canvas.
the day is all things. i witness unrecoiled, on a bench of Springtime.
soaking my tendons in tumultuous calm.
a goodly amount of nectar, beads the forehead of a Bee.
and i am constantly amazed
where it hurts.