Have you ever pondered the butterflies? I've learned of many different eyes
who have many different views of butterflies. If they show up at funerals,
another one will be as soon as tomorrow. If they land on your hand,
somebody's thoughts are you. If they bundle up real close to you in the
city, you're right where you're needed. If they're rioting in your
stomach, they're rioting in mine, too. If they fill up your chest, I long to feel them against my own to know that they're real. If they fly out of your lips, I reckon there's a garden in your throat - I want to feel it out of its hold on you.
YOU ARE READING
PERCHED PARCHED BUTTERFLY
PoésieYour voice is the paint I take to the sky, splattering it all over, so they can all know you're nigh.
