How can I be certain that you are real?
Each day, you are a noble rider; a sterling chain
seeking my affinity.
I want to cover myself in admission
while you are
straight,
natural,
throwing butterflies. At my feet
they become Ackee centers, flying up, up, around me.
Take a bite!, you say, It is only Vanessa and her Red Wings.
Jamaica made her crazy though, and
you present her plague
to me!?
Do you mistake her as beautiful wings
or
is this MY aberration?
Jamaican fruit do not raise her
butterfly appendages and flutter
about a young,
ripe woman. They don’t!
This is truth or it is fallacy, crossing a frying pan.
And I am preparing to cook either
butterfly
or
poisonous exotic fruit!
maggiemaeijustsaythis 