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.