The color yellow looks different when I look through your eyes,
As if the fields are made of emeralds decorated in butterflies,
And then I see pollen fly and descend to the wind’s singing
And embed themselves into beds’ sheets’ linen.
The coursing of dance mimics a river current
And I involuntarily admire your freckles and the rose of your cheeks like they’re sunburnt.
Now, I know you’re a gift to me because you entered what I know to be the present
The same feeling comes whenever you smile because it’s as bright as the moon in its’ crescent.
White butterflies come at special times
Whenever I walk the right path
Or see you with closed eyes
Or avoided a trap
But now I'm happy to fall asleep
Now that the dreams aren't bad
Because now I dream of moments which we haven't had.