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Tinkerbell Smith May 2015
Butterflies...across my face
Is what you said my words were to you

Wings of brown drifting
across two pools of ice blue

Slender fingers laced with red
Outstretched across the bed

And yet there was a pause
a sudden close of doors

Keys clattered and locks shut
A yes, a no,a sighed but...

Hawthorn high and bluebells droop
The morning star, the endless loop

My mouth formed the shape
and you fell out soft vowel
Mine a consonant, low like an owl

Flash of blue, rapeseed gold
A white lace flower
A secret to hold.
To a kingfisher
Seán Mac Falls Dec 2014
Little bird feather  .  .  .
Wafts outside house of new love,
  .  .  .  Weight of my old heart.

— The End —