Stitches

The butterflies finally left the corpse,
exposing the deep rot they’ve been feasting on.
The crows have begun collecting teeth from the rain,
while silver tears fell from the dying swan.

Leather apples swelled upon the trees,
dangling near the magenta leaves.
The fossils of forgotten gods
ache for the warmth of extinct colors.

The stones sing a soft little scream,
tearing their throats in a scarlet stream.
A doe bent her spine to drain,
her muzzle painted incarnadine.

Flayed stars slowly oozed sulfur bile.
The chained dust gave a tall smile.
Lambs circled burning wolves,
ripping their ashen bones.