Loft.

Spray it on at the light of dusk
The quell, this scent, the remnants
of Musk lined with a gentle fairy dust of Innocence
Spilling over layers of colour:
Red, orange, then yellow, orange, and a rush of blue or
is that green? Is that broken from the other spectrum
of tree branches a copious amount weighing
but twelve ounces, and another twenty one
grafting the stronger with the fool; the two shuffling
in the rust'g valves and then ask,
Wither do you seek! Perhaps amid Summer's
Nightdream.