Did he want me or the thread around my fingers?
abandoned, and I let it twist around my throat,
born again from the ashes and sand
a goddess, alone

Does this vine wreathed god want me
or is he driven manic with lust when he sees
the way I tear the flesh of survival between my teeth,
akin to the myths of him?

I can taste wine on the roof of my mouth
and religious ecstasy in my lungs,
but I can feel turns and terrors of my own in my bones
and a beast encased in my ribs.

Iphigenia, with your sloping eyes
and tripping, lively, lovely name,
blushing bride turned lamb for slaughter,
murdered on your wedding day

Iphigenia, the favoured priestess
devout and born from strength,
but it was not enough to stop the stumble
that would signify your untimely death

Iphigenia, star-crossed with a goddess
and double-crossed by a father
to be wedded to the best of the Greeks,
but the huntress demanded slaughter  

Iphigenia, can you forgive me?
you were only a girl, still tied down by youth,
slain on an altar, to be another victim of war
and I didn’t stop the hands that grasped you.

Adonis across the room,
light, laughter, and hushed hair

unassuming, softly spoke
let me be your Aphrodite

and your Persephone
when you dip into other worlds at night,

your girlfriend made of gold
too fragile to closely touch

I’ll take all thirds of the year
we don’t need a king; of gods or Solomon

you can’t wash me from your lungs
Adonis, incapable of being alone.

still, i wish flowers grew from my veins
and curled around my wrists like vines - no snakes
i’ve spent so long in my room that i don’t
feel like i’m natural anymore

it’s been months since i first wrote about you
and days since i mentioned you to him
i know where i stand now, it’s on glass
i bet you wished flowers sprouted from the red

i’m not the same soul i was at eleven
sinister motives wire their way through
my nerves, my senses, the blossom in my hair
at least i think you’re learning of love

rapunzel in the tower, you’re acres away
through controlling thorns and misjudgement
i’ll find you with your hair down and gasp
because until now, you weren’t one for metaphors.

your hands pulled me apart at the seams  
unpicked each stitch with a touch so soft
until I shook and my breath came out in ice
then you ripped what was left to ****** shreds,  

your eyes undressed each disguise of mine  
replaced my duplicity with biblical truths
I have one apology sent weeks (years) ago
and an inability to feel at peace or to sew

I came into this world holy,
screaming, close to dying, dead,
      don’t think i’m afraid
to leave it the same way

in decades to centuries
they’ll paint me gazing,
serpent around my waist and neck
         secretly an artist's carnal sin

my skin is dry and blemished now
                but i’m no less celestial
my hands bleed because i pick at them;
I’ve bloodied oceans before.