When I hold your hand/
can you stand/
a butterfly’s wings,/
(delicate, tender things,)/
unfolding as it fans?
Tracing across your palm and wrist?
Dancing lightly, like a butterfly’s kiss?
And then matching fingers’ gentle trace?
Moving up from your hand to cup your face?
Can you tolerate hand holding that grand?
If you can,
I might yet be your man.