Phengaris arion

In record-breaking heat I bathe

My baby with an ice cube. 

Together we slept outside and

Our night light, the full moon created

The curves of his face. My beautiful boy

In black and white photography. 

A playground scene.

Below the anthill, I reside in

A dark underworld of desire thrives

Where I am milking the blue caterpillar.

Truffle flavored smoke rises from his lips in

The summer of lager and honeydew.

He is feasting on my youth.

His chrysalis is a car; 

He will drive away from here.

But first he asks, “want to fork?”

“Yes, I have never liked spooning,” I respond.

“A fork makes a poor microphone,” I shout.

Imperfect passion, the love is not faulty

The lovers are like Alice talking to Absolem.

Answer 1- my cognitive unconscious

Answer 2- storyteller

How many times do you have to make love?