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Monarchs
Her's to hoping the rain clears up
that the skies will brighten and the clouds will melt
back into their original shape
they were before you left.
The cats will claw the carpet
but the color of the fibers
is never changing
Infatuation once again is the glue,
and distance
is the solvent.
It is another night like the others,
all the same.
Wishful thinking clouding
your thoughts
and memories taking over
your future.
Can it work the second...third...fourth time around?
Can you fail at much more without trying?
Where is the certainty
in this roundabout?
This ideal is not tangible enough
Yet selfish enough
to sound believable.
So new feelings emerge
and like a monarch's wings,
they spread.
