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A Butterfly Wont Linger

a butterfly won't linger til it's wings
are torn and tattered,
as if only one thing mattered:
it's own being.
once leaving 'wormhood' off for splendor,
once the crysallis transcending,
doffs it's former gluttony for
sipping amrit nectar...

a butterfly makes love, then dies.
and doesn't moments borrow,
nor barters for tomorrows
it might see.
instead, with beauty realized,
and stained glass wings against the skies,
declares her truth, elusively
then disappears forever.

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