By Cliff Rivera
Like a moth to a flame burned beside a bonfire
My love is a sweaty bandanna red with desire
For organic acres of planteyn plantations
Simple yet complex like a wise and lovely Lola
Who listens to us talk on the casa phone of Grandad
Better late than never
Better now than later
Only G-d knows until we
Flutter through Chapel doors
Flap your wings dressed like our new Sistah
As we witness ashes turn into dancing
Upon open streets of New Jerusalem
Golden Moth,
That’s da’ way love grows
