Eros in Retreat

7

I am waiting for my white butterflies
Summer’s babble of small noises
Where I can feel insignificant again
Behind crickets and proofs of God

I’m hoping that timely intervals
Will save me from this grief
Amidst the healing weeks
Of mourning and mornings

I have the patience of heart-breaks
That fly with delicate wings
Of youth’s love-sheath so tender
Bemused by nature’s glory

I am waiting for my sampled flowers
That have no flaw, but their unchanging beauty
That diamonds are only accomplished
After eternities, epochs long enough

That they forget what they once were
I am waiting for my single aims
To be accomplished in-between
The death of memories, it shall be sweet

To no longer recall who I have been
Or why art mattered, why love was cruel
And how the seasons fell, little squire anti-climaxes.

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