He sidles close and slips
them like a drug into my drink,
so they escape my pen as freely
as ‘f’ words in a playground.
See them fly like pigeons from a loft:
luminous, iridescent, shimmering,
myriad, miasma, moonlit,
beauteous, wondrous, joyous.
I turn my back on him and cross them out:
myriad X, miasma X, moonlit X.
But ah! sometimes the world is
luminous, iridescent, shimmering.