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Hunting Butterflies
Hunting Butterflies
She looks so beautiful
with painted pain and smoky eyes.
she has died inside years ago
and I am left wondering
about the blossom of this beauties youth.
Her hands, magic in my lap
don’t hesitate in their dance.
I am all butterflies, she is still and quiet,
moving, moving, moving
her tenured fingers up and down.
A ten dollar date, no roses needed.
Her beautiful pain creased in a smile
as she slips out my car, back to the night
hunting more butterflies.
She looks so beautiful
with painted pain and smoky eyes.
she has died inside years ago
and I am left wondering
about the blossom of this beauties youth.
Her hands, magic in my lap
don’t hesitate in their dance.
I am all butterflies, she is still and quiet,
moving, moving, moving
her tenured fingers up and down.
A ten dollar date, no roses needed.
Her beautiful pain creased in a smile
as she slips out my car, back to the night
hunting more butterflies.
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