Butterflies and Saxophones

I never told you but I used to religiously rise a degree, every time your nails tapped playfully along my window pane. Clickity clickity clackity clickity...click. You still good at cloaking that big battered heart of yours, still tracing those neon hieroglyphs? No I'm not being judgmental, I've grown up a bit. Though I can see you haven't changed at all and maybe that's a good thing. Your still my Lord Rayleigh butterfly emerging from the saxophone mist clickity clickity- clickity clackity...click.