deepundergroundpoetry.com
Butterfly Spine
if her spine is the stem
her ribs are the leaves
where insects feed
on her hollow bones
devouring the green
now she is bare and fruitless
with no pollen to offer the bees
bruised and bloody
pale skin eroding
she cries, she tries, she fails
to turn weeds to roses
and grow back the places
where butterflies landed
her ribs are the leaves
where insects feed
on her hollow bones
devouring the green
now she is bare and fruitless
with no pollen to offer the bees
bruised and bloody
pale skin eroding
she cries, she tries, she fails
to turn weeds to roses
and grow back the places
where butterflies landed
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