Shattered Bouquets and Dismembered Fairies

i picked you twelve roses with splintered stems,
trampled beneath the hooves of a skeletal winter wind,
crushed between it's daggered teeth,
broken petals pressed into the pages of an album painted black and white.

if it were spring, i would give you every butterfly.
monarch wings pinned to the merlot walls of your insides,
would the colours shine through your skylit eyes?
a somewhat macabre reflection of metaphorical insects sacrificed
to sate your thirst for brighter shades.
i want to give you butterflies.