How love ushers in the moment,
You let in a cherry picker, pick your first harvest.
How Prunus avium, the wild cherry
Is also called the bird cherry,
How she, a woman, has a nose for curiosity,
Unbuttoning his shirt. How we are children
Trapped inside adult bodies, letting effervescence rise,
Until we are brimming in courage,
Knowing how beautiful it is, fledgling our wings;
Like how a little yellow butterfly emerges
From under the canopy, of a mulberry bush, while
The broken enclosure of a cocoon,
Will remain, as a vestigial chrysalis,
A woman’s stigmata.