And We'll Learn To, Love Again. Poem by Alistair Plint

Stared that butterfly's wings, down
soaked the colors into my heart
drank the shapes of that pattern
like a tequila shot; a double in the glass

Sat in silence, while they fluttered off
into the sunset; much like us, really

Bows are restrictive, so I sit in wait
to pluck your strings, while I watch
the movie, expecting to read the script
glaring in the depths of angel eyes

If I was her, If I was P! nk; I'd end this
with some pathetic pantie poetry


But the butterfly has not come back



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