Lilly of the Valley

"Mutant Mosquito?",
thought still sluggishly
sleeping Charles,
as to a whir and buzz
most unaccustomed
was he, with amazement,
roused up.

A hummingbird,
chupaflor, huitzil,
hovered at his exposed
and hair-covered chest,
and with extended beak
and flicking tongue did
upon his best nectar sup.

After the disorienting
dart and dash,
when realized he
the benign nature
of that most delicate,
thirsty, wingly thing,
was he to bemusement shifted,
the initial annoyance
of being tickled
from his fickle dreams
evaporated, lifted.

While a deep-soft laugh
in his whiskey'd throat
rolled and bubbled
did he decide
(most untroubled)
that should his fist-sized,
blood-red flower
nourish this sweet-seeking,
blithe and beautiful bird
for even only an hour,
then was he as finely Fated
as any man of whom
he'd ever heard.