With the snow, the butterflies came and they left.
Their compound became fractured with the piercing cold,
That left their wings stiff and unbalanced.
The most delicate touch gave way to the loss of senses.
I found a piece of you today,
That was left blanketed underneath the frost covered plants that have already died,
With the changing of the season.
For a moment I held you in my hands,
Though you have lost your color and ability.
In my eyes, you will always fly,
Despite your distance.
To classify us would be dishonorable.
For we were more than wings and parts.
Partners misunderstood.
Simply thriving on the nectar of one another.
But I took too much,
And slowly drained the veins you needed to flourish.
As I toil to emerge from this chrysalis blanket that I have placed around to protect me.
Into a permanent resting stage,
Where I can feel your forceful tongue,
And get lost in the touch of your wings once more.
