Her veins of moonlight opened
Spattering the stars with milky ichor
The righteous do not taste of death
Only oblivion, the space between constellations
and consciousness.

The maker unmakes,
Who spun her from enforced purity
and cast chastity like chains about the moon
Those who exiled celestial bodies into orbit
Would condemn her for the distance.

She had known love,
And lovers, before the horsemen
Before the jealous hunters
Bound all that was feral & female;
Denied her fullness & left her crescent.

It is her death we mourn,
The moon phased out.
An image of light that was,
Casting only the shadow of conqueror,
Her pale visage trampled underfoot.