Butterflies

In my stomach, in the trees and the skies,

Their kaleidoscopic wings flutter by,

Red, orange and white with black or brown eyes.

Each and all surround us where we lie,

Air filled with Monarchs and Painted Ladies,

Swirling and twirling, playful and dancing.

Possibilities, too: 'what if's, 'maybe's...

Times, places like these, they make my heart sing.

But sometimes their wings slice, slash and slaughter

My delicate heart, leaving me lying

Still on the ground, devoid of all laughter.

Perhaps this time will prove to be different.

This could be our chance to give in, fly high,

After all, you do give me butterflies.