a poem by Melanie Browne
ate butterflies with Wasabi sauce,
and her lover ignored it,
even if he thought it cruel.
Her friends tried to hold an intervention,
"Butterflies are free," they told her,
while weeping into their embroidered napkins,
But she was defiant,
offended they bothered her
with such trivial matters.
She was used to the flutter in her stomach,
the craving incessant,
Her lover sighed,