I hold a stick of incense, short, purple, and pink

Pleasance is with what it fills me, bright, bold, and sweet

I will call it “feather” and put it in my cap.

Life it holds as with which it was wrought

With not a single penny it was so assuredly bought

And so, I will call it “feather” and put it in my cap.

Scurrying wisps of smoky scent fills the room, the air

Sediment holds this scent but in this world not whim, not care

I will call it “feather” and put it in my cap.

Contortion and twisting spinning-spiral blue

Obsession and longing as my hungry eyes graze over you

As for this, I will call it “feather” and put it in my cap.

Nustling and nestling like a bird among two of fleshy brother

Pressing and dying ashes falling as smoke-fingers twine another

I will call it “feather” and put it in my cap.

Hair like silk like vaporous strands through which to stroke my fingers, hands

Breaths like doldrums like sweet, sweet fog my heart boiling, boiling like a bog

And this stick, I will call it “feather” and put it in my cap.