yellow butterfly, flutter on, flutter on;
in your wake, memories of moments shared.
it’s weeks now since that encounter,
yet it all still returns to me
by shawn hlookoff’s she could be you,
finding its way to my lips.
it comes out croaky, coated in the cold
that froze my lips —
i should have told you
how I felt; what you did to me —
i let it out, a sigh of what could have been;
olúfúnmilọ́lá, we could have been!