there is any number of things

which i would like to tell you about –

but i open my mouth to speak

and my butterfly of speech flutters away.

do you see the way the clouds just touch

the golden halo of the setting sun, or

the curve of my eyelashes, as yours,

in little beautiful arcs over half-hidden freckles?

and in the morning, waking from a dream,

does your first thought flit to me?

does my voice ever come to you in a quiet moment

and, imperceptably, you smile because –

do you ever find yourself smiling for no good reason,

or see me as a background character in each of your dreams?

do your eyes settle for me in a given moment?

as mine do for you – .. good god, i'm rambling

butterfly, how i wish you'd come back to me;

i'd be contented should the words like water pour from me.

my god, how hard could it possibly be? –

it's just that i love you, you see.