He peed on my daffodils, on the morning dew, like a monkey standing still.
He dug the mine from my treasure mountain, making charcoal out of it to
pay off the debt he owned to the gardener.
He smiled at the sun; it burnt his eyes with a sizzling sound. Bloody liquid running down his cheeks, I
never saw something as beautiful as that–an expanded kaleidoscope pattern mapping out his pale skin. I
never doubt the toxic gin poured in my glass is splashed with legends.
At the border of our kingdom, the endless sleepless nights yet review the last page.