the butterflies no longer flutter around in my belly
they've all drowned in the deep gray-like sea
of angst and exceeding worries.
your hands still continue
to wrap around my wretched heart
like grape vines, lingering around
connecting, linking, catching a grip.
please tell me a remedy to this disease
perhaps your touch or your presence
or maybe even a slight snippet of your voice.
can diminish this ****** cloud of dissatisfaction


- m.n.