The Butterfly

I would rather have you

fly away

like a butterfly

than go off

like butter;

I would rather taste

the sweetness

of your loss

than the rancour

of an unwanted presence;

I would rather live

the regret

of never having

cupped you

in my hands –

provided

you come back to me

from time to time

to sing your fluttering beauty

round my ears

in late night radio songs.