Clamoring iron, rusting knives
the Queen of Blades polishes steel,
the Star knights his Lady of Metal,
a hilt with a ruby, and sword like a
smile.
Naked as YHWH made me, these coffins contain gods
buried five feet down in apple wood, fructifying soil
with divine blood, winnowed alive, spread, quartered,
with blood like wine dregs, and poppies blooming forth
from quiet breasts.
Holy, savage apple. Apple of my dem(eyes).
I see all in your red globules of waxy poison.
Your jewel fruit of a heart, your crimson kiss.
First touch of a man I ever knew, you brought
a stranger to my door, and let Samael in to my
orchard, brought Lucifer's rains down upon
my hair, loosed Michael's fires at my stake.
And now, I walk in the garden, with regret
but also, knowing, that in my depths of a
sacred well, where witches cast stones, I
birthed Legion and Legend, and I am Queen
