Colourful thorax (mine) attracts but
Bright colours mean danger.
They rarely settle.
Hand touches knee touches hand,
Your touch on my shoulder,
The first words ever spoken.
You breathe butterflies
That settle, fluttering, in my stomach.
I would rather breathe you.
From afar, I am hoping-
Caught on you,
Butterflies streaming from your lips.
Butterflies spread butterflies spread
butterflies:
Pieris brassicae, vanessa atalanta,
greta oto.
We met, once, in nature's dance, but-
I am yet to cocoon,
Whilst your wings hardened long ago.
Egg, larva, pupa, grown.
What was it like,
To emerge from your chrysallis,
Into this brilliant world?
Stretch your wings out, tiny dancer.
This world is your oyster,
You a pearl of your own creation.
A butterfly belongs only to itself:
The rest of the world must only be
entranced,
And never hope to capture.
Your wings are like stained glass;
beautiful and painful.
I would tell you that but
There are butterflies in my throat.
Bright colours mean danger.
I have always been too quick, or not
slow enough.
Too much, or not enough.
When you fly away, go gently.