If in between your lips, a butterfly laid still
Still as if your lips were two petals: carmine, red
Protruding from the garden of Eden,
Would I then dare fluttered with a kiss, Her wings
into the oblivion of this mystifying dream?
Or would I dare not kiss those lips as if Her was I,
that butterfly that laid still?
for in stillness, the butterfly enjoys your lips
And by fluttering with a kiss, her wings, her that is I,
would venture in excitement into the clouds
to then fall rapidly in love with what seems to have been