I.
Butterflies rise around us,
swirling—powdery, living artists.
Delicate, my heart risks wonder,
opening: romantic sunlight floods out.

II.
You know every scar—
hidden and apparent.
You know my struggles, my loves.
My deepening devotion flows toward You,
asking to be received, appreciated,
held carefully—balanced.

III.
“Show me the butterflies of your mind again,”
He says, delighted by my magic sense.
Nervous, I smile and release them.
His fingers snap—a spark, a flame—
fragile flapping arrows,
dark little things zigzag around.
He’s turned day to night,
butterflies to bats.
And I can’t help but feel the peace
of knowing He accepts
I have my dark side.

IV.
“Your dark highlights your love.”
His tone grows serious.
His hand presses to my chest—gentle, firm—
as if to clear the message, make it land.
My eyes, pools of blue,
shift toward gold—
darkened, filled with His aim.
“Now we’re having fun,”
He says with a grin—
all mischief meant, all acceptance.

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