Butterfly

If I were a little butterfly

I would drink from summer’s well

And if I were a butterfly

All my flowers would sing and tell:

That the sun

Is my best friend

As I fly

In the warm, warm wind

And you, my love,

Are my best friend

Holding me

In your arms of wind.

If I were a butterfly

Mornings would always be bright

Like it is this morning, love,

With your eyes so full of sunlight.

-Geoffrey Griffard

Sweet buttery sleep

Sweet buttery sleep

a batter of dreams and leftovers

eternal soup of days and nights

and all the crumbs

that fell through the cracks.

Pour me into some form

so tonight that I may be

a risen, starchy baby fresh

from the oven,

still steaming from the heat

of my REM cycle.

The crows come calling

the rats salivate on their ties

and the baker’s daughter…

steals a bite…

a lick…

a lungful of the fumes

of my fresh-made self.