In Regard To My Feelings, Which I Am Permitted To Carry, Uncontested, For the Duration I Choose:

I. They are too much supper And never enough. The stomach Drops as does a basket of apples too heavy for the Hands that carry it. Yet, each green orb is So delightful, that to pluck even one from Its woven nest seems wasteful. I do not intend to feed the birds. II. Intensity of Romantic Hope never comes To dinner without her companion, Fear of Rejection. Their arms link in reluctant solidarity, and Are perhaps the archetype for co-dependency. Together they feed Anxiety, which is Cyanide for hope, but Trust is In the orchard climbing Apple trees and filling baskets, Her pockets, and Calls down to her companions to Bring the wheelbarrow too.