We live in an age of love’s corporeal metamorphoses
Where butterflies are banished back to chrysalides
Veiled in pupal gowns
They emerge as larva crawling and devouring
Ever younger and greener shoots
Until the garden is denuded
And it is time to call upon corporeal lust
To nourish an emptying sky of butterflies
And as the wind is hushed from the beating of astral wings
And skyriders descend into the venery of a mucinous desert
Gypsy moths dance on their aborted souls
I absolutely love this