Descent

The first time she would not sleep with me,

It began.



I thought, back then,

That it was just the tag on my dress--

Then I thought,

I am cracking, alive, down the center.



The second time she would not sleep with me,

There was blood.



The sheets had to be burned,

And the flames rose crimson--

The smoke a choking jet.



It doesn't matter.

I can no longer lie down--

My back has birthed devil-black wings,

Bigger than I am.



If I wrap them around myself,

I can close my eyes for a blessed moment;

Though when I unfold them again,

They are more impressive yet--

And I am less human.



The third time she would not sleep with me,

I no longer cared.



I laughed remembering how such a small thing could have appeased me--

Now, I require everything,

And when I sigh at the idea of appetite unleashed,

It sounds

Like fluttering.

________

photo: Amy Lee