Her breath blows cold today. Facing both dark
and light, a note escapes. An almost name
is mouthed. A god who forgot her arrives
without calling her. The solemn song dives
down a scale, a relic from time marked
by slapped memory. She offers small, plain
words and the presence becomes an ikon.
Her bones remember—recall night with no
human flesh, all the sacrifice this song
asks, that she’s given, free, fey as an old
doll, left in weather. Moonlight spreads out, stark
as time. That god who loved her makes his cuts.
Blood, long desired begins to flow down plain
white tiles. She breathes out names of divine lust.