Butterfly visions
Abound in the wrist

– A flick of a tempest
– A wick of a cyst

A fiery sorceress
Tempts and expands

A wizened old mistress
Unfolds her worn hands

A child underneath
A girl yet unborn

A teenager
Sullen and stricken with scorn

All of these women
Are here with me now

They speak in the spaces
That I can’t avow

They leave a mark, sudden
A contemptuous spark

Lines that condemn – and affirm – from the start.