Amazing reds and yellows merge with satin black to make such a beautiful camouflage. To conceal, disguise and yes deceive, although without malice intent but survival in mind, for the butterfly life is short.
How can something so beautiful, so bold be so delicate as butterfly wings? Becoming disabled and unable to rejoice in the freedom of clear blue skies when touched by my mere human hands.
Drawn by a naked flame, captured in their beauty, distant within their vulnerability. Hidden beneath your camouflaged heart, I find your butterfly wings. Enslaved within a prism, darkened by a reluctant essence.
Your buttery wings when open display a world so fragile and innocent, when closed they attempt to conecl your natural wonder, beauty, your inherent power.
While walking along unblemished river banks, drifting through feral grass from the corner of my eyes, I see your butterfly wings. Gently they glide, hovering, capturing sunbeams and occasionally stopping to rest and gather valuable energy from wildflowers.
Leaving only flighting memory.
A moment captured in time.
Now so different.
As winter exhales her chilly breath.
No fantastic reds and yellows merge with satin black.
On these insular riverbanks, I await a warm breeze.
Your butterfly wings.