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.