Every time the eyes turn away
I cease to exist –

Dying a numbered death
Roaming in solitary, spectral form
The evidence of my existence foregone.

A returning glance won't bring my resurrection...

Hovering bee-like around you,
Minimally acknowledged,
This distant yeast mouth
Expands and swallows me.

In the absence of the buzzing wings
The mead waits for Dionysus
To be reborn.