A choice

My feet are heavy
To an early church mass
And my hands caress them

When she is gone finally

My feet become lighter
And my hands stopped pretending

Then the real loving begins
Alone, this window opens
There my love
Lurks posing as a nude woman

Her arms opening to take me in
& through this window

Some yellow butterflies with black edges on its wings
A little larger than my thumb

Circle over my head.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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