Tuesday, April 18, 2017


An immaculate teardrop
of slick and
iridescent aquamarine,

underscores a godly coppice
of formidable quills—
with those mint

and basil
and pistachio
hints of

sumptuous eyes,
littered and lost among
speckled tufts

of Tiffany
blue and Kelly
green plumage—I cannot stop

seeing him,
looking at me
watching him

from my spot
there at the meager
fringe of a garden dale.

But unlike
him—I will eventually
hop this fence again,

easy as can be.
Maybe not as graceful
in gesture as he

is, but fuck it—
ever loved

a peacock
for his