An ode to Naruda

No one else, love, will sleep in my dreams    
The softest flower in the midst of a meadow reaching for the  clouds.
The natural, cosmic spotlight bathing the flower in light, You   embrace me, 
the lowly butterfly without wings, your petals fold up   mimicking a tulip and I inside, 
You stand in the rain and stick out your tongue, and I a bland raindrop, lost in a million identical raindrops, 
let go of the safety of my bruised and brooding cloud and fall through the sky, 
the winds push me to the left then the right, I ride lightning bolts and doge abandoned balloons whose      
departure spurned tears similar to my precipitous form, and of all the fields to fall in, of all the trees to get lost in, 
I fall into a meadow and onto your tongue and think 
"How happy am I that you picked me from all of the soaring butterflies and, from all of the fitter raindrops, 
and from all of the hopeless romantics you wade through each day".