Monday, May 4, 2015

Butterflies



I think about you two, three times a day—
   That hollow where your shoulder met your neck;
The way your smile burned all my clouds away;
   The way your frown made me a nervous wreck.
You had a beauty nothing satisfied.
   Next to you, I felt like a caterpillar.
I couldn’t make you happy, though I tried—
   But when I did, I was a giant-killer.
In all my life, you were the one cocoon
   That stripped my shell away and gave me wings.
I learned to fly; I learned that the best tune
   Depends on harmony, not just who sings.
      You may be gone, but nothing really dies:
      Thinking of you still gives me butterflies.

 

Copyright 2015 Matthew J Wells

 

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