My fluttering monarch wings aren’t a show of-
a defect of being denied it,
Here again after I thought happiness found-
Your northeastern chill demeanor
An icicle that stabbed my heart and your weapon-
I’m still standing and like cupid with his arrow
I’m bleeding all of you.
I never said I wanted it to be easy hue
Of a dark blood red love.
XX Erin N. Buckley xx