Golden crop in
the desolate debt-free sea
the wrinkles
are waves
that knock on
my door
and the sun,
hoarse and sweet
will sew a
golden hedge
around me
before there
were tender feelings
like frayed
butterflies
you show me
fluttering
around and around your cold shoulders
you haven't
bought me
I'm not for
sale
I love your
wings
because you
are a butterfly yourself
you are a
butterflydragon, that I can tell
you are golden
crop in the desolate debt-free sea
golden crop in
the desolate debt-free sea
the wrinkles
are waves
that knock on
my door.
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