venus

Everything,
I love,
is fleeting.

Does this,
happen,
deliberately?

I have it,
in the,
palm of my hand.

Then it floats,
away
like a demented

butterfly.

It’s always,
the arms,
that disarm me.

Enchant me,
then,
harm me.

And calm me,
alarmingly:

I,
fall,
for

it,
every,
single,

time.