Cry pity for

the butterfly

who races by

and dies in

your smoke

----

Image: Brian A Catnut

We love your little drops of blood

The bullet hole, like red rose bud

It compliments your balding head

But best of all you're freshly dead

You cannot slap

You cannot run

You make fine skeeter' dining fun

We drain you dry, without a fight

This must be

Love

At first bite...

Fluttering feeling inside

core drawn to you

by your magnetism

I am lured by you

knowing you will be

the ultimate death

of my yearning soul.

I take a deep breath

disregarding your risks

fly up to your bright light.

My moth body fries

in an electric flash

an offering of love.

Let it be raining

Let it be hot

Let it be painting

Let it be not

For what fly lives in sullen hope

That with a spider, it will elope?

By what cruel God makes it so, 

That spiders are so beautiful?

Legs like spines, web like silver

Glassy eyes and a lovely shiver

If only I be born one too, 

Instead I be born ones' food

So, let it be that grass is dry

Let it be, the flowers moist,

Let it be, the child cries,

Let it be, my love a choice

Let it be an early Spring

Let it be, I the one to stand beside her

Let true love, no sorrow bring

Let it be, I, the fly, that loves the spider

What is this, this portal thing?

Lovely wings, a strange being.

I move left, and so does she,

but to her right, technically.

I've asked her things so eagerly.

Such a match we seem to be.

But it seems she will not speak-

I even waited for a week.

Oh there you are, my tall, lovely one.

Long green arms pointed toward the sun.

Your ethereal air resonates

Enticing others to emulate.

You quietly blend with the green grass,

While urgently searching for your lass.

Here I am, oh devoted prayor,

Hoping to catch your blessed favor.

I see us detecting, as we roam,

Worlds of undergrowth and loam.

Joined, we’ll jump from ivy to heather,

Magically melding hearts together.

Your wings are so soft, pure and sophisticated.

Your hands are pure, light and delicate.

Your antennas awake, touching and groping.

Your eyes are black, mysterious and wondering.

You fly away, leaving me again.

You smell the day, taking your time and fading away.

You are my desire, which I admire.

You beautiful butterfly, take me higher.