A parable of flesh and butterflies

I want to bathe this place in memories of the future.
I want to massage a soundtrack into its rhythms, 
revered through ritual repeat
outward spirals 
more sacred each season. 

I want to bathe this time like a harlot bathed
Jesus’s feet. 
I want to massage religion into it,
rubbing fantasies into its 
calloused and overworked joints 

until the music and the religion,
the fantasies and parables
are outgrown by 
our healing flesh 

until we overgrow time 
overgrowing itself 
metamorphosizing into 
a billion butterflies
escaping from our stomachs 

photo from http://www.alexcurriemedia.com/photo/