Just the lent breath of the butterfly kisses, at fair welterweight speed, and she sees all of it
 
A protective bell jar persuasion of sentimentally estranged, stranglehold approval
 
Whimsically brought back together again whilst getting to witness for herself
These rather wondrous, downright naturally inclined things – how’s about, now, she tries and writes about it this time?
 
To simply, fair whimsically, accentuate the inevitable? Incredulously so we know it has to become invisibly engaging
 
A burnt butterfly wing reassesses itself, some minds might just trip over themselves, their own home-strewn failings for a capturing, snatching, at a constant visual
 
Whisper it shyly, slyly
Within the bones of one’s fabricated being
Before
Bothering to say… whilst other’s make-do with make-belief, behemoth brain’s may begin to feel…
 
The bare-naked, -knuckled imaginings of its fondness for the whistling breeze, of its intricate movements, fluttering manoeuvrings
 
All of it lent, again, gently, politely against and uttermost comfortably towards…
 
The aforementioned necessity which forever seeks
One kind of human-esque endorsement
 
Of course, of course, of Goddamn course… this is the sentimental twist amidst the intrepid, earned crush and turn which will intricately, inescapably come…
With the complete freshness of this singular peculiar life of the magnified butterfly
Midst factual clarity aside undeniable impact, indeed
 
We feel all of these living, breathing things with wings aerially attached, even if it is a witnessed premise, promise, pressed soliloquy within
 
A million differing minds of many more artistic people placed upon confusing, contrite fire
A million-and-one thankless metaphors that can still open up the kissed kismet of a beautifully bottled butterfly
 
Of a billion more substantially defiant doors
Not all of that revolutionary anymore – just… plain… outright… jovially instilled marvellously within
The blink of the minder’s eye over matter
 
Some of us might find it all a little too mixed-up and mightily infuriating, this plagiarised attempt at some kind of a poetic masterpiece de resistance
 
Those with prolonging pain barriers swimming oh so very boisterously, stereotypically, till fundamentally neighbouring the edges of their peripheral brains, bending and benefiting the immurings of their outstanding ears
 
Far, almost very nearly near it, but not quite there anymore – q-u-i-e-t and peace-filled resistance and lack of sight and mammoth might
 
When a star fades, ferocity gains
A penultimate grounding, of its own, finally… fondly, pure magnification, perhaps? And then, for the map back to a run-of-the-mill reality perfectly untouched by the might of the flightless firefly
Albeit only ever offering up a necessary visual of its art-workings when, really, we needed for wings
The ugly reality may well pierce our next step, but the truth let it be forged from fruitful