I realize that I am jealous of the sun’s
kiss upon your delicate, caramel skin.
The fervent glow of Her lips
pressed against your supple flesh
singes the curve of my mind’s rapture.
I cannot concentrate when she
leers at me with fervent embers in her eyes.
I touched the blue butterfly, resting
on a glowing, peach rose before us
as our fingers loosely interlocked in the heat.
You cried because someone told you
that the butterfly would never fly again,
but I knew that was not true.