Butterflies

Before,

It was none but a bit of curiosity

From surreal fantasies

Felt through years of brutal loneness

And wishful instances

That one instance was you

Or, so I thought at that time

An instance of a usual possibility

And familiar butterflies I forcefully bred

But was immediately dumbfounded

When I realized I was swallowing the butterflies instead

One butterfly for that time you spoke my name,

Another for a small secret you unveiled,

Two when I glimpsed at your normal state,

Every one you non chalantly offered

I got eight

And then you opened a cage of your own dead butterflies

Between wonder, laughs and lies

A thousand of them revived and crossed to mine

Fighting the first few ones in my insides

Producing tension on my stomach I cautiously hide

In this now a garden of larvae I unconciously built

Each specie morphing by insecurity, jealousy and expectancy

for that instance of you to be true

Up until now,

I count more and more butterflies every time I look at you