On powdered wings we glide

towards sticky sweetness

a nice surpirse.

Who leaves this treat?

This trickery display?

Luring midnight butterflies

a moths flame away.

Out of our element, a risk of feast

To feed on daylight

and forrbidden sweets.

Our ritual is of flight

Not of sweetness, nor of light

for we are midnight butterflies

on powdered wings we glide.

Your sweetness cannot trap

a gypsy of the sky.

 

C. Churchill