Perfidious change

One midsummer night, the muse waited for me on our dream-yard, worried for the hour grew late and everything quietened down, revealing her exigency of belonging and definite confirmation.
She tried to hide it between the quince's shadows as i lay under an oleander, tired because i crashed from a cliff, craving for the blooming cyclamen on its edge.
She lied next to me, her hair smelling of dusk, her eyes drawing galaxies in the darkness, creating nests in her hands for drunken birds to dance. And her voice, creasy and lanate, felt like leafs of loneliness.
"Don't divide your soul into seashells just to place them on my pillow, for you'll become an emerald moon on the mast, breaking like a pomegranate on the gunwale. Give away your body to the salted wind and let your soul melt, pour onto my hands..."
So i waited for the moon to emerge behind the sticks of the pine tree and sucked the honey from her asserting nipples, gathered wildflowers from her body, perambulated the skies on a wild horse as i traced my souls footsteps on her body from the last full moon night.

At the first strike of dawn, a yellow butterfly sat on her closed eyes, then flew by my forehead.
"All that matters is which hands embrace your body and make your skin weep, which mouth will crush the husk of your brain and toss you breathless into the stars.
Love has no identity, what are you still doing here?" she whispered before disappearing into the quince.
I felt my body shivering at the morning dew for the first time and seeked protection from the upcoming change in her arms.
And she clasped me to her breasts and i felt the swallows surging from her eyelids and flittering on the blossoming branches of my heart. I felt her wandering through the night like a pixie, stealing tiny fainting stars and hiding them in her bosom.
I remembered her dancing like a faerie at the sound of my heartbeat, becoming a wave, a breath of the moon, a feather of a seduced seabird...

So i gathered colorful suns and white feathers from doves to protect her from the morning breeze, summoned my promises' echoes to sing for her on her silent hours and captured a rainbow as it painted the quince's yearning to enfold her in its verdure.
And left her napping under the shadow of the bitter laurel, watching her as i drifted away with a flickering evanescing cry in my eyes, ready to wither.

For i am nothing more than a butterfly, pretending to be a gold digger and then tossing it all away for a broken seashell...