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The Butterfly Kiss
Leaves whisper awakenings of early morning.
I smother their coos with a shut of the window,
Trap in the shadows with a tug of the blinds,
Bring night again.
The sleeping form tangled in white cotton sheets
Her exposed shoulders feel my grazing fingertips
Along the outlines of her bones.
She barely moves as breath goes
Silently in, silently out.
Dangling free at the foot of the bed
Rest curved arches and lines
Of her toes, feet ankles.
The night has seduced them to sleep
And not lift her away.
Cushioned against the pillow’s slip
Is the porcelain platter’s feast of features
That marry together and say “I do”
To staying here, unmoved.
Her eyelids don’t flutter
As I sit in the chair across from her.
Her breath is lulling as I near her face
Drawing me closer than ever before.
Our noses almost kiss in Eskimo style
As my lashes lay a butterfly’s affection
Against her cheek’s skin.
I’ll stop the butterfly from flying away.
While the night is still in,
I reach towards its antennae.
Rip them with coarse fingertips:
It’s unable to feel its way through the air.
When I move down to its wings
I hold kitchen shears
And cut its freedom to a pathetic shrivel;
I’ve stopped it from lifting off anything.
I deface the features sprawled on its span;
No one will recognize it,
And the butterfly won’t fly away.