too. My pants and knees are both worn;
sideways comes the bird of paradise
bearing fruit for the queen. Ensconced
in her bed like that she looks at least
approachable. Should I assume too much?
I don’t know; too little comes too late.
That horse she rode in on scares me.
His eye is baleful and gleams in dark.
Last night I held her against the coming
light. You could see right through
into her designs. Her unmentionables
gathered at her feet, saying little;
as I understand is best.
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