Butterfly, Under Glass

She keeps her heart under glass like a butterfly

and I delight to see it dance and flutter, the colors

almost overwhelming to my eyes

bright blues, and reds, black, the toil of amber,

the lightest pink where she presses up

against the edge;

I’d love for her to let it out, I can imagine the feel

of those delicate legs on my shoulder or

the graceful powder of her wings against my beard,

but she tells me the glass is just too heavy,

she’s not sure if she can even lift it at all but

she knows she won’t lift it for me.