Her lithe arm embraces him from behind. The other unbinds her hair.

He leaps, scale and wing the color of dark emerald.

“When your king took my gold, he robbed not my treasure...”

I am but a screaming mouth and flailing arm...

“You are kind,” she said, “but no kiss will restore me.”

“Now take this path home, not the goat trail.”

But some days— a once-child enters my menagerie.

She points to my phone. I hand it over.

“Sorry, it’s a one-pilot starfighter.”