Poets habitually call her a divine flower
Orchid, cherry blossom even a daring pink hibiscus
Smell her first I was told and thread like a butterfly
On her nectarines and plunge your proboscis
Like an anteater searching for ants

I am not going to tell you about flowers – No!
It’s a piece of pink Assamese silk split in the middle
Sometimes they rise like tiny tentacles of a midget squid
Or a pink tongue stitched under, cut through the middle
And folded outward from the torn sight

Perhaps there were pink spiders in God’s hands
Letting them loose on Eve and they left an intricate cobweb
Beneath her hipbones. Or perhaps they were pink toadstools
That grew in diameter until they burst in the middle
Maybe they were gills of a pink salmon

But if you look close enough
You will see a pink butterfly embellished with wings
Body dissected by a biology student and wings left untouched
And a small antennae sits on top, and all you want to do
Is to reach out your lips and plant butterfly kisses

And legend says – which I know now –

A butterfly can cause a tsunami……