Pink and purple skies would call out to the butterflies as they fly past the waterfall.
They flap their wings so fast, you’d swear they’d grow tired and fall while the sun’s reflection would add a connection to the waterfall.
He wears pink while she rocks purple braids and the butterflies dance around her. And the ground is as soft as melted butter.
She brings popcorn then corn and he brings green grapes and butter biscuits. And with one touch it’ll melt in your mouth.
It’s about 5pm and the sky calls out to the rest of the butterflies, who have now made it to the elegant pink and purple picnic.
It feels like an illusion, short story with a picture.
Poet: NTOMBIV
