Butterflies By Kleio Bristow

The home seen inside is a cocoon,

Rotting to its battered baby blue core.

My body, a barren, abandoned dune,

Chasing after a sickly-sweet rose shore.

I’ll keep yearning for the young crimson wings 

That emerge from nature’s greatest flowers. 

Stuck in the shade of petals as it sings,

My weak arm reaching up as it towers.

That limb snaps off the pretty chrysalis.

As the wailing waves from ruptured cherries,

Break me out my home with a tender kiss.

Drowned whole in the juice of Lilith’s berries.

I'll be born again, underneath the Moon.

A new crimson-wing beauty, gone too soon.