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.



No reviews yet.