Butterfly, cross the highway.
Thin-slit wings gilded with exhaust.
Leading
the cowgirl:
Oil and leathered boots,
sweat behind her ears.
Mirages don’t melt,
don’t drip to the blacktop.
Eyes like a gunshot,
or a backfiring engine,
or 120 mph
without a seatbelt.








Devious Comments
--
-Ravie
It appears my hypocrisy knows no bounds.
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