Ancient Cosmonaut Theory

Lover,

(if, anymore,
we are such things
and not cryptids of Eden
banqueting on apologues
as two magicked statuettes
living in a glyph stone,
frozen in tableaux)

do moments or millennia pass each midnight?
What the Hell has happened while I wombed away my life?
What is left to live on, the bones of ancient mania?
Do they still build man,
woman,
little notes,
firestarter songs to enslave the very sky gods
with the filaments they used
once
to watercolour
the height of you . . .
?