By Morgan Lynn

Sun stricken leaves

explore the streets,

Our feet scratch through them,

Lowly on the ground

Grooving to the sound,

Of Hand held shadows over pavement

The flower shop is bare.

Lacking in vibrant petals and flare

So, we leap out the door,

A desperate search for more.

A little store, with hoarded floors

Nick knacks bounce back

Through the open door,

A portal to more.

Admits copper and silver chimes

You’ve spotted a butterfly in disguise

with symmetrical emerald eyes

Blue bird wings

Rest on an opalescent shell

Gold pipes wrap around

Looping lavishly

Up and down

Gently you lift,

It to my lips,

“This is yours...”

This is mine...

Put it down

Please stop clowning around

You place it down

Click on my neck and

Wings over my heart