would break its sheathe. Without layer on layer of feather and air to insulate the loving belly. A cloudy film surrounding the point of entry. If blue were not blue how could love be love. But if the body were made of rings. A loose halo would emerge in the telluric light. If anyone were entrusted to verify this rare occurrence. As the petal starts to dwindle and curl unto itself. And only then. Love, blue. Hallucinogenic blue, love.