Head Of The Butterfly King

Boy’s got the head of a jackal and a serpent tongue; she’s got her gilded talons in the battle she’s won. Clarity comes cold; jolted into a sea of conscious awareness. Crowns of butterflies are laid upon the head of death. A crown of monarchs disintegrated before an angel with burnt wings; singed cape of greed. Blackened orgasmal headspace; I don’t want the taste of you to leave my lips, the immortal sting of your kiss. This possession has run dry, an old fashioned cuckold jealousy. I’m astounded by the oblivion that is you; a lecherous thief, a spasmodic cure for post-blue ambition. Your eyes hold heavy what the heart has borne for so long a period, lifetimes; and then we come undone.