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.
