Real

Feel substantial and tangible,
A whole new level
Of irresponsible.
Feel secrets brimming,
And know what happens
When clandestine action flutes inside.

New tints and shades of blush,
Light pink noses
A deep red crush.

Being a child makes it innocent,
Being an adult makes it wicked,
And for all the times the
Butterflies have been ignored,
They feel twice as significant.

Swathing wings
Dusting rainbows
Inside insides
While words lie
Those cowardly soldiers’
True thoughts denied;

“Is this alright?"

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