Swallowed Butterflies
Now I keep a dead rose in my pocket
pressed in old pages of a faded book.
To hold you like a palm stone of garnet
I’ve stuck you right inside the story’s hook.
A frozen bud I can see how we met,
feel my gut fall with that very first look.
I peered into those dark skies of your eyes,
at once the storm swallowed my butterflies.
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