The Pull of Shadows

Obsession comes softly, shining,
On a butterfly's wings
As if its bright colors
Would cloak darker things.
Scent of the flower
On which a butterfly lands
Masks the dank odor
Of basement and hands
Reaching and touching
Where innocence lies
Spinning a tale
As a butterfly flies.
A web of lies
To make spiders proud
Traps this little girl
Inert on a cloud
Watching a butterfly
With bright colored wings
As a monster in a basement
Does unmentionable things.