Blood and Honey

we sisters are a trickle of honey in the night-time forest
blood drips from fingers (ours and yours running together) that dip and smear,
                hands that hold aloft a wand
                my wand - thyrsus - rough against open palm and clenched fist
                                made from vine, ribbon, seed and staff
late in the night i stumble, feet tangled in vines grasping more tightly than ribbons in my hair
but our song and drink carries me on
Dionysus walks these roads tonight, singing paths towards dawn
i think i have seen him dancing there, though it may have been a maenad in epiphany throes
our god, young god, old god, god of what isn't, born/e aloft by our hands and teeth
sudden fear drives my gaze towards the city walls and i feel the way that stubble paints my chin
                clutch my thyrsus close - it wounds me there, in the doorways of a proud 		         
                city
                clutch my thyrsus close - this fennel wand guards me here
                                made with pine cone, spear, nectar, wine
we feast, we feast, we kill, we drink
meanings die and we raise unknowns
we die meanings and rise unknown
our girlish god marks us, dances behind/before us
                an uproar; a proud king dies at our hands, lies down beside our thyrsi
                we dream of crashing against those walls, singing them down with these 	  	  
                gifts we made
                                made as woman weapon, wand, gift and sign
young face smeared with honey, a lion's head joins the parade
there is no more left of the young king
only sisters,
and we sisters sing of blood and honey

Melody Watson is a queer writer, historian, games designer, and cybersmut poet from Adelaide, Australia. You can hear her shouting on Twitter at @magicspacegirl or check out her full portfolio at melodynova.com.