Why I never heard music so tasteful,
With a woman so graceful.
Falling to sleep in her arms,
As the choirs gently serenade us.
Lip to lip as the lights dim,
Hand on her thigh, just how she likes it.
I'll never be able to love you the same,
Not after feeling you like this.

Red dress, modern cut, a nod to tradition.
Not gaudy, not simple, a balance found.
Her hand, offered, a father's blessing unspoken.
Pride mixed with sorrow, a future he won't see.
Love, honor, cherish, the groom's vow, a solemn oath.
Protection promised, a father's final duty.

Tears fall freely, a river of emotions.
Vows exchanged, a seal on a lifetime's journey.
The kiss, a declaration, a new chapter begins.
Then, a flutter, a swarm of butterflies descends.

One lands on her nose, a Blue-Spotted Crow, rare and bold.
Wings unfurl, a vibrant blue against her pale skin.
A message, a whisper, a father's presence felt.
She raises a finger, the butterfly shifts its perch.

A silent conversation, a daughter's tribute.
Prosperity whispered, protection assured.
Love remains, eternal, a bond unbreakable.
The Blue-Spotted Crow, a constant, enduring reminder.

The gesture, her father,
The promise, prosperity,
The honor, protection,
The Love, forever.

𝐈
𝐍ever
𝐅igured that
𝐀
𝐓eensy tiny
𝐔ndeveloped
𝐀ttraction would
𝐓urn
𝐈nto
𝐎vert
𝐍ausea

Butterflies,
With their delicate wings,
Flap laces and blessings of new dreams
And ventures,
Through the silence and murmur of voices.
They show up uninvited—
Not for the vows, not for the ceremony,
Or the reception.
They’re just free, in their own little world,
A good omen of nature’s poetry.
Playing with their cousins,
No longer tied, held hostage in anyone’s stomach,
They flutter through the words
Not bound by expectation or vow.
As small and fragile as they are,
They remember the things we do not—
All the things we act out and rehearse,
And still tend to forget,
They do naturally.
Like crashing a family wedding,
As a simple reminder:
That the best things in life land
Where they will,
No matter if it’s a dress, a car,
A hat, or a heart

butterflies flutter -
reach for the nectar of life;
winds change direction.

A flowering shrub

at the monastery gate:


butterflies greet me.

By chance found again:

the butterfly box, the pins --


in circles of dust.

They're attractive to see
long, thin, sharp as nails
they grow slow like snails
its life is one long jubilee

Butterfly is not a meal
but when they flew in your stomach, it felt surreal
is something that you cannot steal
a hunger that is hard to fulfill

As when thorns and butterflies collide,
You wouldn't even know how to survive
Thorns will **** you for a while
The worst feeling that you cannot hide

Thorns will pierce you and the pain is mild
Butterflies will die, even if they go wild.