I envy you, my boy, with your damn good name, a noble one, still oblivious
to the bitter taste of the lecherous garden’s fruit, where the precious moments
behind the curtains provided a temporary substitute for innocence by stealing
the light of street lamps with the words of yet another forbidden storyteller.
And I recall you hoping that one full moon would bring you a dragon fruit.
But for now, you will have to make do with an apple.
hidden pilcrow 