Today, at lunchtime, I saw two butterflies making love.
They flew just in front of my head as they started their coupling - I am sure I saw micro-droplets of some liquid in the air accompanying their flightpath - and then continued or rested still attached together on a tree branch for a couple of minutes. They were still there when I left.
It was too hard to take a good photo with my phone from the ground. I contemplated climbing the trunk to get closer, confident my business clothes were up to the task, but ended none too confident they would be good for much else after on consideration. Also, it would have been bound to shake the branch and it could just be considered rude.
So this is what happens when you write poems about butterflies.