I often see two butterflies in flight,

Synchronized by patterns of the light between the leaves,

And by some strange form of love

That draws them to one another to mate.

They say that butterfly seek out

Their exact level of perfection,

The brightness of their colors,

The exactness of their symmetry.

No other butterfly will do

Until they find the perfect match.

Their flying dance looks free,

But they have latched on to one another

In an egoistic type of beauty

That they may not even be aware of.

And as for you and me,

We dance, too,

Perfectly matched,

To a strange, exotic form of beautiful music

We call love.

-jenn