feeling so light he floats
the feeling is
feathery
chickening out he hides himself
in his journal
a dark room where he projects himself
as a butterfly
black powder
with proboscis extending
longer than his
pants
he consumes what nectar is found
on that
flower of illusion
he knows this thing is only found here
this only thing that for the meantime
makes him a man
RIC S. BASTASA
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/hidden-pleasure/
