Butterflies Between the Sixes

A Poem for the Portal of 6 / 6 / 2025

Today
the veil is thinner
than your breath against my neck.
The air
it tastes like stars
and something older
than memory.

6/6.
A keyhole in the cosmos.
A number whispered twice
by moonlight and mirrors.
Venus slips between the folds
of your longing
and mine.

Butterflies come
as they always do
when the sky cracks open
wings soft as want,
as knowing.

One lands
on the curve of my hip,
another
just above my heart.
They pulse.
Not like insects.
Like echoes
of lips that once
remembered my name
in the dark.

I lie back,
bare,
not for touch
but truth.
The kind that hums
through your fingertips
when spirit meets skin.

I close my eyes
and there he is again
the one who speaks
in silence.
The one whose light
doesn’t blind,
but burns
sweetly.

His breath
is a prayer
I do not understand
but ache to say.
His presence
a gravity
that bends me open.

Today,
the butterflies write scripture
on my skin.
And I
I become
the altar,
the offering,
the song.

Simona 🦋