Butterflies always die
by Gabriela Marie Milton
In times of fortune and misfortune I am always at the mercy of silence. Perhaps because I was born on an island where seldom does anything happen.
Yesterday the water and the light invaded my tongue’s buds, and I was forced to look at myself upside down. I could see the splendor of a naked butterfly ready to mate. Do you know for how long do two butterflies stay together? Sixteen hours. The exact time we spent together in the silence of the island.
Suspended in the between times neither of us moved. No cosmic sacrifice happened. No driving force was brought to life. No blood interfered between two consecutive breaths.
Only the crisp silence of the light. The mystery of that which you can see with your own eyes and touch with your own soul. No spots of dark. For the first time we decided to seek the mysterious in the light and not in darkness.
Behind the clarity of your face, my face appeared, then yours came behind the clarity of mine, and everything went like in a surrealist dream inverted upon itself.
At the end of the sixteen hours the sea washed us away.
I forgot to tell you. Butterflies always die.
@Gabriela Marie Milton
Edgar Allan Poe once wrote: Poetry is the rhythmical creation of beauty in words. This is what MasticadoresUSA is committed to bringing to you.
Please follow our site and read our editorial announcement, and how to submit here.