unlike most men, he didn’t expect
to be seen; your curiosity surprised him

he laughed, bewildered,
when you told him about the statue,
bills left in its buttcrack

if one more person offered
gratitude or grief, he’d scream,
and planes would fall from the sky
you couldn’t have that

he looked like a migraine aura
you couldn’t tell what the hell he was except by touch: antennae
long as peacock feathers, tense jaw, knotted shoulders, exhaustion
wrapped in thin chitin

his wildfire eyes saw the world burning and he
could do nothing but tell you

wings of lepidoptera
plush galaxy of brushstrokes
always begged for your selfish fingers

he painted your skin,
smear of ashes eyeshadow-soft, powder-fine scales
rubbing off on you

what else could you do for him,
poor thing, absurd, unheard, sick
of skeptics and tricks with chapstick,

desperate to forget the future,
just like you