Bare

What would you see,

if I stripped down,

past the bone of me

and bore my soul?

Would you see

a noceur flower,

taciturn in pearlescent nature,

who blooms

in even the louring places?

Would you see

a marcid beauty

lost

in the revery of a life

that she is working

single-handedly

to build.

Would you see

an orphic stellification

of a spark

that wraps you

in indelible saudade?

Or would you see

the amaranthine reticence

of a butterflies wings

still turned inwards,

too callow to yet take flight?

Or would you see

the multitude

of faceted fissures

that all together

make me

whole.