Heavy lovers linger on this soft day, 

the dew that refreshed our passion 

has evaporated from exposure. 

​

Exposed I am. Buttons undone and lungs 

unfilled, but as I turn to him, my Apollo, 

my god, his coat is on. 

​

The invading dawn pierces my eyes. I want 

to seek refuge in the forest floor again, but he wants to

leave--to be rid of me until the dew hours return. 

​

He dared not dote but brandished me his mot. I

am nothing more than a moth, the dust from my

wings destined to become ashes in his hand. 

​

He will not notice my embers unless I burn up and

burn him with me. I rise, woman awakened, called

upon by the death of us. 

​

I will scream our secret until the painted glass splits

from the church I built for you. I will keep screaming

until the cross inside splinters your heart. 

​

Hide your face with arms that held me in corridors. They

make for a useless shield and poor embraces. My voice, its

essence, its sweetness, its hell will haunt you

for eternity. My lips are shut and poised like a death-head, yet

you still tremble. My locks flicker like wind-licked flames, I tear

at their roots as a skull seeps before us.