I was a butterfly in your exegesis
I was as numerous as Genesis: 15
the stars are my descendants
I am the third temple
crumbling under Salome's veils
all illusion fell victim to redemption
in lilting sunsets,
in some sorrowful rose

on saturday,
under lunatic sun
flirting with wan womb of moon's ghostly glow
settling numb and proud
in drunken salt water