[Corneac]

It stung,
as if I were a bee,
and I a butterfly,
was drowning in you,

but stings can only sting for so long,
and between my forefinger and thumb,
I purged you from my bloodstream;
flicked you away,
as if to say,
“so long,”

and you called me a peacock,
and admonished my plume,
but I stand on two legs,
my own,
feathers intact,
despite the brilliance of you