A butterfly fluttered by
as we lay
in the long grass
well she talked,
I listened
to her words,
took them
into my mind,
turned them around
as if they
were rare gems,
all air and breath,
peppermint tasting.


I looked
at the rise and fall
of her breasts
beneath the blouse;
her hand shading
her eyes
from bright sunlight;
her hair tucked
behind her ears;
lips moving,
the pink gloss touching
lip to lip as she spoke.


The butterfly
disappeared from sight;
red and black
and white wings,
fluttering, riding
between her words,
carrying off,
maybe, a breath feel,
a wing touched,
sight captured.


I could have ran
a finger along
her thigh,
barely touching,
skimming maybe,
but my fingers behaved,
held back;
the rise and fall
of her mounds,
the eyes shaded,
her words
became butterflies,
fluttered about me,
carrying softness,
tender as bubbles,
syllables upon syllables
reaching for the sky,
then like far away stars
they began to die.

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