A young man of feathers and gems,
He balances a glass of wine,
Holding flowers cut at the stem,
Resembling his bare spine.
His gait is that of a horse,
Arms are spindles and muscles.
His features stole from Old Norse,
And he brings with him troubles.
Peeling grapes straight from the vine,
Offering them to all fools,
Secure in his confines,
As he collects yet more jewels.
Flying high on weak Rosé,
Taking many a client,
Nibbling on their raw toes,