Butterflies’ bones.

Read her mind; soaring sorrows;

years of solitude made her an errant coward;

strawberry bubble baths, no more;

just wandering brownish zombies at the bloody floor;

plucking infant’s ears at the nurseries,

tress flew out of the buss windows.

Mothers’ cries shreds puffy toxic lungs.

Has Eryngium grew on butterflies’ bones?

Ebony-like bones of a seductive curvy waist.

read again;

 conscience purified.

Now, read beyond her bones’ aroma.

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