I am not a presumption of innocents,
nor a prescience the fabulous wear.
Merely flesh, I am sheddings of spirit, flightless,
not predictions that feasts unswilled will grow supple wings.
I do not understand my diamonds,
nor the cyclamen given me by curvy lovers who also mimic butterflies,
as though such beautiful things could push my blood
through the wounds lovers carry
like eyes.
I am a presumption of innocence, I do not understand why you love me.
I only hear your fingers contemplate my body.
Merely flesh, I am dross of flight,
I shall stay and listen to your elegant syntax.
Adding your comment:
In this piece, you merge the hauntingly beautiful images of gemstones with butterflies, among other profound metaphors. Most apropos, considering how brilliantly they both shine. I see our mutual friend has left her mark on this one, too. She's right; this is exquisite writing, Danny. 
