Wednesday, August 03, 2005

Seed: Butterfly wings still beat into the blood (Fran)

I was left with only memories, spun in crystal, hung on filament wire

Left with nothing but remembrance rainbows . . . and words
Blood still beats like butterfly wings

Behind the hollow throat of wax your lips dreamed into being
A throat that still swallows rainbows, still whispers words, and no,
I have never, ever been sorry

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