5/11/10
Found
Rogue cotton drifts;
sails beneath the
softly glowing streetlamp
as I wait here, in vain.
Much like your predecessor, you,
my dearest, are as quick
and cold as the lightning
itself. A moth? No, butterfly-
clinging to the iron post
as if it were life itself.
What have you
here, small, winged delight?
Subtle hints of violet,
orange, red...
Time to be off,
isn't it, dearest?
And yet you are found.
About time, eh? :)