Scent A Moniker

My Name?

You never quite knew it, did you?

Aside from the familial sinew, it registered drapes of an innoculated kind.

Farthest is the mind which plackets in tidy rows.

The Fleurette cusped thus its whiff

A Scent aplomb, however brief.

Say rum? Tis I? No, no. It is, but.

Startle the flounder and work the hare.

The fledgling betrays its signature smile.

Far be it told, for whom to know,

Tis I, not of the little child,

The moniker in nodes thus inked

Yours Sincerely, With Love,

Tis I, Mich-Ling.

February 2008.

Is He....You?