—for Lina
I love you as the fissipalmate foot of an Ibis loves the water.
I love yóu even when mísplaced accénts cause havóc.
As the fruit bat’s wingspan, reaching nearly five feet, slices the night air, dropping like the USS Missouri onto a plate of black rose petals, I love you.
I love you the way I love a fine cartouche.
I love your.
