Because it is love, then love should free

the caged children—

the dove, peacock, lion and dog

but because it is the old love,

humbly beautified by Sebastian’s rosettes,

and Wilde’s green carnation, and because

it is not the truth of many, championed by

a legion of defenders ,

Flesh cries out the memory

of the tomb, a catacomb of

shattered perfection where iniquity

breeds into the space

between the stars