Painted Lady

When is flitter counted swarm,
squadron from some sapphire sky,
sintered cobalt in a wisp?
Is there flutter on the lash,
nectar drunk ambrosia,
beady eyed, hypnotic pair?
Pinned by shadows, whither real,
porous pores or sealed with wax;
can swallowtails turn curlicues?
Sheen beyond expected glow,
droplets shopped in cut or paste –
swop chop in studio techniques,
air-brushed, hair-rushed, flicker whorl?
Orange and black scene so mundane,
nomenclature of earthy soles;
is caramel clear insect feed –
weathered tan suite, leather soon?
Are lips parting, closing down,
solid state or swallow hard,
as proboscis, harsher nose –
second stage if tasting wine –
scale lepidos, ptera wings?
Is painted lady, lotion-oiled –
wide-eyed-olive sounds a breed –
silent flicker, recognised?
There, here, sense flighty pheromones;
with sixth, said poets find to seek.