on the slightest breath
the hot moisture begs
and you are taking me to the brink
and back
pin my butterfly
in the sweet drifting light that bathes
skin creamy delicate and barren
who ever turned this into something baleful?
in all your actions of benevolence  
this one shall not be benign
curtains will billow
and the violin will blare
with sounds luscious and blithe
the pinning of my beauty
the keepsake of my butterfly