How does a machine pure in flesh
treat those so soiled and denigrated
liken to the mist of dogs ****
before the winters shine on them

Yet you, my butterflies of home
with your wings transparent calling
give me the hope of delicate wings
that sing in fluttering ecstasy

We wait for the call to arms
if not our cherubs are laid to waste
and what is our dominion
without their arrows of foolishness

Should that love have order
blind as an *** it is
would that give justice
just for one more kiss

By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris