finesse

let Malachite butterflies lift us from
organic stupor and modify the
conditions of love and art that would fool
our eyes,:

let form fill content and foliage adorn
our namesake, the intensity of
fulfillment cover naked presence
and steal orchids from bewildered eyes

but are not words thieves,
clinging to indifferent streets
and riot with declarations of thoughts
in stark, bare walls of uninspired minds?

what is it that rules the heart at play?
the chalice is drained of aphrodisiac
we bounce off walls
like light
and shade eyes with gifts of wonder.