• Melancholy butterfly,
    Pearching on my window pane.
    Drowning in those saltless tears.

    Open my window,
    Let you in with the storm?
    It's locked.
    I wont.
    I do.

    Such a whimsical flight,
    Such an open plague.
    An abrasive,absent-minded abyss you are,
    Monsuier Butterfly.

    The acerbic ache of my accursed heart
    Lays bare and faint;
    Easy pray to such an enticing profile.

    You are forceful.
    I am foolish;
    I entertain no such thoughts of
    Futile fury
    Or gnarled gloom.

    For you,Dear Butterfly,
    Are grand.
    Your lustous wings gleam and shimmer,
    Making you a gypsy of the stars.
    And I your idiotic infatuant.

    You are an unattainable myth,
    And so I blink to regain my breath.

    And upon opening my eyes once more
    I find you to be jesting at the fool.
    Even as you titter
    I find no rage within.

    You flit onto my palm,
    Wings an indifferent agitation.

    You are no butterfly,
    Monsuier Illusion.
    Only a fly with paper wings.

    Forlorn is my emotion now,
    No more dazzle,
    No more dust.

    So I feel it;
    Malignant violence.

    You are a malady,
    An affliction,
    A disease!

    My fingertips brush your wings
    Until my palms near pressing together,
    But I am not savage and cruel.
    I cannot bring my muscles to pass
    The judgement you deserve.

    You were sly,and you were vicious,
    A pallid Wickedness I wanted to call Mine.
    But you were a wonderoud Wickedness.
    Embossed in my mind.

    I set you back into the storm
    under a tiny drink umbrella.
    The window closes.
    The curtains are pulled.
    I weep.

    If only I had been born a Noble Rose!
    Alas,I am only a Plain Daisy.
    And do I only attract
    Prittily papered Flies.