We launch, feet pushing from worn grass. 
Our thick sleeper-swing, dampscented by 
April showers hitting heavy rope, 
cradles us under the boutique of Taihaku blossom.

A tender spring whisperbreeze rustles,
swirling silken kisses around the orchard. 
Calm wonderstruck coos echo from fellow joypilots.

Knees propel us further into the vortex, 
paperlight white-pink petals dress us, 
accidentally feed us. 

Bitter tastes are fleeting chasing contentment storms.

We slow,
our legs heavy in a serotonin lake,
flooded with vanilla-cherry pheromones.

A blissful embrace.