when all the periwinkles winkle in the brisk fidget of Spring
and cicadas chorus in the forest, such odes to Eros, all my arrows
fall upon apples that can’t stop smiling.

my sunshine has no thorns, and soft moths coo in the twilight
of my everlasting beguile.
i am such that i might be gone accept for here I am…
and love has all my luggage and a cat
perched in the elbow of an Albatross.
grinning with phantasmal mischief
against the harm of the world
and sweet nothings
by and by,

Like something strange.