Atala butterflies crawl through my thoughts
to peer into my eyes.
I subconsciously sing all about you to onlookers, I get nervous.
So I answer them with lies.
At night you sweetly perform, like violets,
a dainty ritual on my lips.
I learn the way you love me to confidence; I'm to no longer let them
lay my soul out in strips.
YOU ARE READING
PERCHED PARCHED BUTTERFLY
PoesíaYour voice is the paint I take to the sky, splattering it all over, so they can all know you're nigh.
