I flutter,
Like a butterfly,
From flower to flower,
Iris to rose,
From poem to song,
To express,
Just a glimpse,
Of your Beauty,
Knowing its multidimensional,
As a garden and its moons,

Reveries dream like romance,
And wings,
Vivid, exotic, and surreal,
As the rain,
That longs,
To dress your hair,
With the damp warmth,
And soothing love,
Of its kisses,

There are fine painters,
painting in fields,
With broad and intimate,
Flourishes, amidst the eloquence,
Of flowers,
As the last of the evening gypsies,
Are changing their costumes,
The doves and geese are relieving,
Their lake eyes,

I can barely dance,
Yet know the moon glows,
Seeing your rhythms,
Dance, and enchantingly sway,
In those versatile dresses,
And naked sighs,
brings forth, the desire,
For the lyrical nectar,
And honey,
Through the weariness,

So like an awed,
moonstruck butterfly,
I glide upon the reverie,
And winds rhythm,
To kiss the sweetness,
Of your Beautys rhythms,
Its patient wine,
The unexpressed petals,
Of your exotic,
Earthy, and ethereal being,
Knowing the enchanted sweetness,
Of its love,
Is vast,
As a singular star,
In the night sky,
Gleaming,
To steady,
Our spirits,
And its frazzled,
and dazzled wings
Reynaldo Casison