These teeny tiny butterflies of bliss
alight upon the birch of my body,
fluttering their fine wings,
only to flit away in want of better blooms,
before I can so much as count them;
leaving me bare to bicker with my blight;
but beneath the base of this birch,
seeped deep into the sodden soil of my soul,
lie the roots of a tender sadness.
My love, I beckon you to behold
these benighted roots of mine,
that seep deep
in the sodden soil of my soul to
bind my being together;
it is through them that I taste life;
it is them that I nourish with my words.
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