Papillon
Mother of my Mother - our hearts – belong, to you wretched as they – may be
I rest within, your primordial wing shielded from that, autumnal hurt
as Seven Trumpets sound and rouse me. away, from your - cinderous womb.
Mother of my Mother - our hearts – belong, to you wretched as they – may be
I rest within, your primordial wing shielded from that, autumnal hurt
as Seven Trumpets sound and rouse me. away, from your - cinderous womb.