Semele

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.