blue butterfly – magpie

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My sorrowful Magpie

flies through the fields, you

sewed with apple tree seeds

in our incestual

slumber, we mixed blood

and spunk

inside a mixing bowl, with handles

made from my shattered spine.

I lay on the left side

of my nursing pillow

waiting for your butterfly lashes

to kiss my cheeks.

 

Maybe it’s time to live,

it hurt just as much,

if not more

than all of the other times before,

and I’m sick of all these changes.

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