Thursday, 26 May 2011

The Butterfly

Does she whisper
to the blushing blooms
as her velvet wings brush,
intimately touching, colours
of lilac and celadon?
Dancing cheek to cheek
does she make promises
she knows she won't keep?
And while sipping nectar
from willing calices
with honeyed tongue
do her lips kiss and caress
the alluring blossoms?
Or is it just the wind,
the gentle wisp of wind,
under her painted wings?
© Rose

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