Quixotic
When you say quixotic, I see those places
where pagodas, pyramids, ziggurats
take vacations with us. Heavenly traces
of gardenias of Eden, bergamot
oil, oolong tea sometimes slip off my tongue.
Ginger, the prominent spice that ignites
my appetite. A pair of white oxen
appear out of nowhere to our delight.
To say quixotic more than once is twice
as nice. Not like lightning strikes, I tend to see
tulips, windmills whirling. To say it thrice,
a flame that licks the wick to a new degree.
Nothing’s more mercurial than your wit,
and quicksilver can never be too quick.