cataclysm butterfly

trapped in soft-light rapture, brilliant release

pensworth of heartfelt and bitter-sweet

and I wish I'd said goodbye;

caught you between the aether and maybes

and kindled something worthwhile something

a little more than life and respiration and

a sparrow's soft touch against crimson dawn;

And oh, but these brittle fingers shame themselves;

were I to write the words of my emotion livid

amongst the elegance of your mein, an intaglio

against your heart, they may be somehow closer

to truth and passion than this crippled comparison -

and yet not enough mountains are there to climb to

find these words I so desire; to etch a meaningful

memorandum of the sacrifice of mine heart.

you... leave me breathless.

confused and paradoxical and

I just wish I could make this all right.

your wingbeats leave tragic beauty and I should

only wish I were Shakespeare or Monet to

capture such grace amidst paint or ink;

but my words are in contrast a scrawl

to their prowess;

I'm a freeform freefall poet, and

All I can manage is this.