I awake under the cap of a mushroom.
Its spores surround me like stalactites hanging from the ceiling of a cave.
Rubbing his forewings, a cricket chirps.
Is that you calling for me?
I know it’s you. You must be hiding in the grass!
Every evening I’ll bathe your body in milk and honey.
Every morning I’ll dress you in a cloak woven from mulberry silk. I’ll grow wings around your ankles, so you can fly above the Himalayas.
Late night I’ll rub ginger oil onto your skin; every stalactite will fall in love with you.
At midnight when the Siamese purrs on my left thigh, I’ll dip my fingers into rose oil and mend your wounds.
We’ll kiss in the fragrance of leaves, roots, and ripened berries.
Why aren’t you answering?
Where are you hiding?