That Butterfly I Could Never Catch

Rustled it's wings and liquified the colors on it's back
like the ocean does to the sky on the horizon,
it tempted my inexperienced fingers to savor a touch
on the powdery blue and shimmering gold
yet like the proudest queen that walked the Earth
not to be touched by the unexceptional,
it rose into the air the moment my naked fingers came close.
I pinched the summer air, hot and heavy from
the exhaust pipes of the rat-race cars and the smoke
from chimneys stemming out of hearths where
apron clad men and women cooked brains
to serve to dark men in dark suits and dark sunglasses,
the very definition of contrast to my butterfly
sitting on its next perch of wild primroses that stared with their jaundice eyes
without a feeling in the world by themselves
but add them to the hand of a man about to go on a  first date,
there was now something about the flat petals and their jaundice eyes.


There were other butterflies around me to catch
but the blue and gold was etched into my pupils
as they clenched to keep out the sun.
I failed over and over till the sun went down
and my pupils finally dilated
enough for me to accept resignation.