I stand in the dilapidated chapel.
Paint peeling from the walls like the bark
of a silver birch.
Dull light cascades in from high archways.
I now approach the manor, in through
the kissing gate kissed with moss and dew.
A ****** of crows battle across the  battlements in still air.

I shove my fist down my throat to stop butterflies spilling out,
spluttering under sticky toffee pudding sky

lines and lines of grass wave hairy heads, panicked to be plucked in
late May air - bare and dry, naked as paper.

We drink fizz to soften silence, look down at birds chasing their shadows.
Ice on pinking thighs

I lick my lips to hide frantic flapping wings,
clouds gather as marshmallows, bodies of grass rise to look.

tongue tickled by flutters, I drink more to drown the butterflies.
Let them digest into crawling caterpillar crumbs in my stomach’s pit