Poezja

Like a butterfly pinned 
in a collage, fluttering. 
Death makes a deal. 
 
I was appalled 
standing on the edge 
watching the withering body. 
 
The lake drowns me. 
Seagulls were waiting 
for a renaissance. 
 
It is not even midsummer. 
The planting of the kiss 
remains incomplete. 
 
No sex was involved 
in baring midriff. 
Moon ignites the legs.