A leaf of no articulation, floatingly lovely,
Desperately disparate, flutters by

Like the regal, chitined wings
Of a kamikaze monarch butterfly, 

Calls to me in some inchoate, primal way
Pleading its case in abstract and brute

Methodology, and I
Becoming exceedingly verklempt,

Respond only as one sentient being to another,
Dancing my heart away,

Denying all now gone astray, exempt
From red and yellow galores, absolute,

My vocal paintbrush loaded up with poem
Pieces waiting to be played, splayed,

Laying out color clues, red and purple hued,
With rainbowed cues the dawn imbued.

My lyric baton raised, the autumn waltz begins -
1-2-3, 1-2-3, x-y-z, me for you, you for me,

Jump your bones, swing and sway, tell me more,
Let me stay, 1-2-3, make my day.

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