I was scolded for littering an orange peel.
I and this couch and an iguana melt.
I am longing for things to be more than real.
She blushes like a child in an autumn fog.
She bleats to scare winter from the ridge of her nostrils.
She grows like a berrypatch in moonlight, after the thaw.
He is my friend’s iguana there.
He looks comfy on the couch.
He only wants to feel good.