Chasing my butterfly of the early twilight
fiction
edward w pritchard
Chasing my butterfly of the early twilight I touched her as she flitted from flower to flower.
Flamboyant, beautiful and alluring I pursued
When the moon rose my butterfly was gone and I was alone under a granite sky.
Softly the whisping wings of another caught my ear.
Not a butterfly but a moth scudded in the moon lit air.
not chichi, but camp, my moth obscured the changing moon
a butterfly is enticing but a moth is at hand
light the torch, the moth will appear
moonlight becomes her spotted wings
heavily tumbling about
she lands awkwardly
quick to return and easy to please
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