Tlotra

reaper cupid, grim when the smile is a dart.
fumbling like a changeling on the cusp
of a steady state. breached by beauty
in spasms of approximate
allegory.

nothing but the best cheese-
and swans for
this one.

in the peach engine where
acorns manifest
like vandals with a spark
for nasty glooms;
there you perch in
your elated
oblivions

like a blue bird
on a wire,

like an entire
You.