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Mar 2020
I was mid-sentence
of a hazy-crazy
argument with her;
spittle sprayed with
unguarded gesticulations
when a butterfly landed
on my finger that was
slashing toward her.
First, I seethed.
Then, froze and
stopped breathing as
I watched gentle flickering
of her beautiful wings.
Delicate things
What was I splaying?
I didn’t matter anymore.
Just stuff to sort later.
James Floss
Written by
James Floss  60/M/Freshwater, CA
(60/M/Freshwater, CA)   
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