Wrapped in red, the rosy dreams mounted
                 the four wheels, on a pilgrimage to the

Valley of flowers, dreamy eyed – the
                uncrowned princess with flushed cheeks

of morning hue. The intoxicating air of
              spring – and the dreams – floating among

the clouds with starry eyes, the moon 
             descends on the bosom of the ocean. Ripples

rise in the calm waters and the ecstasy 
             of fulfilment, the morning glory opens

at the touch of the burning sun. The pangs
             of de-flowering! The red stream trickles

down the swollen boon, a house of wonders
              of full moon and its milky blanket. The spots

emerge – black, gray! – Who cares? The fawns
            fill the space around, the sights and sounds of
 
summer, a rich harvest and honeybees, all stick
              together. The frame dilates – of the princess
         
perfect, like the monkey god. Tentacles emerge
            like octopus – the eight-armed goddess juggles

and balances to seize the demons of civilization,
             the boiling broth exudes the sweet-salty scents

of blood and sweat. The jingles and the candy cane,
        and the sheets of snow, the black spots resurface –

the blurry eyes dive under the sheet of gray, to bring 
      out some green — Will the dove survive the winter!