Each seed I handpicked and planted in the garden of Eden
before the fire devoured Rome at the end of the century.
The culprit, the Beast, did not die even after a blow to the head.
A catnap from sin, forever resurrected an undead passion
to ravish the bride with the blessed emerald virgin eyes.
The fire burns until the glisten of green is left in ash.
The prince of the sea wears the fur of the wolf and a skull
as a crown. Father to legions of abortions, renovations
from garden to graveyard, from blessing to bingeing
until the soil evaporates into dirt. The child saint born
with the fear of God weaned on fat of the lamb processed
by red light industries and made into a commodity.
Filled in the gut with a hole in the head, the prince made undead
given new blood by the sacrifice of the heavenly queen.
The stone drips with life. Merciful charity pours at the call.
The seed hatches from the shell and conceives plants with fruit,
doves with wings, trees with life, the manna she fed me.
My companion, my messiah, my love. A patch of Eden remains.