A Poem About Romeo and Jojo and Will at Herbin

Romeo groans for treats or still secreter longings—this is first, While Jojo and Will make their encampment on their table-bench at Herbin— two antique figures of painted porcelain crafted with the care of dearer eras gone by, from the rough and tumbling use of the trafficking day, absconded, set in the crystalline rays of the quieting afternoon, content to settle in their old cabinet love? But Romeo groans for treats or still secreter longings— Still, this is first. A wet husky nose leaps this way high and that way low, sashaying and pirouetting into new nebulas of wafting news of foods and squirrels and other not-quite-wolves, the remaining fluff called Romeo following suit, the remaining fluff called Romeo a Lovecraftian hunger, a burning star-core of energy on the verge of catastrophic explosion, and a silly dumb little puppy baby with cotton-candy blue eyes—all balancing under a single, furry suit's guise, a wonderful incredulous thing like a couple of kids stacked on shoulders disguised, barely, by a giant overcoat, toppling their way through adult-rated places and stations, at all moments near bursting on the verge of clumsy discovery...but who doesn't feel this way sometimes? If I were to guess, measuring the height and worth of this big heaping mess called a present, sifting through this offensive wreck with my artist's eye (cataract clouded and blind by the comparing light of my song-masters, my predecessors), I'd say it were those gentle noble creatures of love, standing out by their goodness and ease in stark relief against the chaff, like angels gifted Eden somewhere in time while Romeo encircles and protects on the leash like a flaming sword, or a hand running the seconds on a clock, keeping time, and all the while, he groans for treats or still secreter longings.