Fortuity
After your butterfly alighted my dreams,
I never forgot your kiss,
You became the object of my vespers,
The refuge for my injured toiling chest.
I await your spectacle, your curtain call.
Your fragile teasing dance.
Like Groundhog Day, I predict your fluttering
Wings, the wavy flurry of your bowstrings,
Again and again.
What wonder comes next?
Are you counting down my dreams?
Copyright © Thomas Wells | Year Posted 2022
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