Tonight, I’m the world’s foremost lepidopterist.
You enter through the window and force me, at gunpoint,
to swallow the eggs of the dreaded Novalis Blue:
once warmed, you remind me, they’ll hatch,
larva devouring the host
from the inside-out,
replacing flesh with moonlight.
Already I feel caterpillars ripple along my bones,
translating me into Maeterlink stanzas.
Vertebrae, mushroom-pale, unbutton one by one,
my final breaths turn azure.
I am a poem in French now, metamorphosis complete.
You’ve changed into your Composer’s costume,
white wig luminous with moths.
You sit down and set my words to music,
set what’s left of me to you.
Chris Fox is a poet and horror film critic based out of Greensboro, NC. His work has appeared in Lady Churchill’s Rosebud Wristlet, Treehouse Magazine, Wavelength, and many other journals. His poetry zine “Time Travel Love Poems” will retroactively self-publish last year.