let out the butterfly

viii.

oh, faint-hearted girl,

oh, faint-hearted girl,
I will bring daffodils
to caress your temple;
why must you be
quick on your feet
when His hand is here,
when His chest is against
your open back?

I will bring the sea,
tan lines and flimsy dresses,
heels for your bare feet.
I will place a mirror
in your open palm:
look, a woman
who has taken
and needs not to give;

a woman who breathes
the air she had for centuries
longed to breathe—
look, feel this petal
of the life you had dreamt of
while bound underwater
in a river so filthy
of almost-love.

worry not
about butterflies wilting,
those weaklings
set to frighten you.
they have no place here,
they are but a distant dream.
face your pain,
you shall remain standing.

spanish music shall play;
perhaps rewarded will you be
by a chaste kiss upon the imprint
of your cross necklace.
is it not titillating,
not the wait,
but the unfolding
of your story?