Oh and how those beautiful butterflies beat their wings against the jars for you.
Escaping just for you, to see how much they love those clouds above your head.
But the jar, the shattered, insignificant causing you to bleed.
And who else will follow that bead of death but me?
Like a puppy to your wound I clean, every ounce of dignity.
God, but if you only knew how much I savor the bitter life from your sins.
I'll swallow every detail if that means to save you.
Paint rainbow on my skin, sculpt a muted throat.
I would be an artist if that means to keep you.
And yes, the wind can't move the mountain, that much is true.
But the mountain still feels the cold, the warmth, the touch.
Even the substantial majestic bows inwardly to embrace.
So bend, and break, and see those butterflies dancing.
Because it's all for you, darling.
Only for you.