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Pleasure
July 31, 2012
The light touch of a butterfly to my finger,
Wings flutter in an ebb and flow,
No fear as piercing as it rests its legs,
But the beauty is of a million dancing elves,
I caress it with my mind for I dare not touch it,
For a moment it seems to tense to fly,
Floating into the air it lands again,
Sweet nectar on my lips,
But it spreads through my body,
A passionate haze of a bloody storm,
Then a small whisper of pure unrestrained joy,
Then it is gone.
© Amber L., Carpinteria, CA
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