of all the world there writes beyond poems love.

in whose lips the dust o' fairies wafts half-sharp.


half sharp it wafts hard as girl hips.


fitting between easily hands(andthekissingofperhapsboys)

to each go singing
'pon the blithe dawn.





)for not is a word spoken more easily than Spring.

When beyond all poems writes
by the cherry heat of petaled fawns,

love.