Butterflies, butterflies
here and there,
flutterin’, scatterin’,
everywhere.
Butterflies born of the silk we wear,
threads of fashion, strands of care,
woven from textures that we share,
from the tears and the wear,
from the weight we bear.
Butterflies ,
when the wind wings your hair,
our wings ,
when we pair,
when we bridge one another
with the tender dare of care.
But when we don’t,
when hearts go bare,
butterflies vanish,
poof, thin air.
Bursting bubbles,
dreams laid bare,
gone,
like whispers that were never there.
Ye,
Butterflies ooze from sketches outstretched,
rush through scratches the sculptor etched,
dash from pomegranates freshly gashed,
from ruby rashes passion flashed,
they gush, they crash,
they spill, they splash,
till poetry erupt,
in ruby dash,
flashing.
