And I am aware that I have chosen the most dangerous lover of them all. I copulate with clouds. I should be more prudent. The sun stings, wilts, goes away.
Clouds pass over and are gone.
On evenings long and languid, I am long and languid too, stretching out toward the North Star, shimmering but unmoved. There is bird song in the mornings. I imagine, no I know, it is meant for only me. Little sparrow, serenade me. Sing sweetly lover, cover me.