Butter-fly


Her strings
Strewn behind her
Her frown
Burns inside her.

Dough to be played with
Air bubbles of flour
Heated, she rises
Insides turn sour.

Tingling, stinging, icy cold
Melts as hold loosens
Calf legs, doe eyes,
Staring; at truth proven

Hands linked, daisy chains
Words dance, openly
Eggs tinkle in their crates
Heart has been spoken

Wings spread, keen hush
Moving over the sky
Smile etched, cheeks flushed
Take my hand as I fly

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