Imago

 

death's head moth.jpg

 

In return for my eternal wait,

You would feed me honey; and lovingly, nightshade,

Grow my comforts; keep me safe, and warm,

And place my chrysalis as the final song

Of your last victim. A flutter in the throat.

 

When at last, they look back on us both,

And all that we achieved, where will it tingle?

Which piece will I miss the most, once it’s removed?

Will you offer a kiss goodbye? Before

I emerge: a flutter in the heart, imago.

 

 

 

Inspired by Silence of the Lambs. Dedicated to Blair. 

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