she grazes
the soul,
tumult in
her coming,

the pang
of proximity,
dew heavy
over exotic petal,

her absence
bullet-riddled
over umpteen
male faces,

a gnawing
melancholy,
restlessly at
high tide,  

a massacre
of butterflies,
a massacre
of butterflies,

crushed torn
powdered
ash dust
in flight  

a massacre
of butterflies,
a massacre
of butterflies,