Eve’s heart lies in a pool of reflective steps and cooling cogitations—with soul as scintillator in-tucking day’s most illuminative points for ready recall when eyes bright shut. ; )

Just as her tale had branched so and a plausible denouement still remained in the shadows, the diseuse broke the wall of worry by blasting blooms at glooms until each cross and break had seen graced into their plot points a fallen flake of either forgiveness or fortitude. ; )

By tazza’s mints,

My lady squints—

For shadow’s hints

May need a rinse

And dress’s lints

Merit a wince.

Back

To

You.

It is alright

For date tonight

Sees out of sight—

Not black or white,

But inside’s bright—

And hair’s highlight. ; )

Chick, a delightful tune atop a branch sprouting spring’s sepals sets sweven’s scene to counter the obscene of the unpraised—like lazzaroni…winging away worries in a naysaying Naples. ; )

Easterlies, please.

No, not sandwiches comprised of two slices of toasted extratropics surrounding a medium-rare breeze.

I mean *Easter*lies—as in hoppy tchotchkes and bun-tiful baskets of pastel pastilles amid Cadbury candies. ; )