Loneliness Salivating (part 2)

the boy lays on a guilt swelled stomach,

counting the spots of a butterfly,

thinking the total will deliver him

from colorless afternoons.

he picks it up and rubs the dusty wings,

making wishes before plucking

them off and tells the twitching body

that it can have his name, and

he will he will use the flaps to fly,

keeping them to float upon wind,

like spoons that carry freedom to

bruised lips, cupped like an infant,

he can live within the grass

and the bug can sleep in his room,

where it's safe because the

little insect is too frail to take a beating,

and the angry hands he knows

aren't mad enough to stop a heart.