I am no goddess,
no daughter with
her mother breathing winter,
fury like silver in her teeth,
frost in her hair.

I have tasted my blood,
ripped nerves out by their roots,
dipped my hands into gasoline,
the smell of it heady and rich,
a forest fire in my throat.

I have taken your throat in my teeth,
tasted the salt of your skin
as you breathed my name not like prayer
because I am no god, but like
water, air, a feast after fasting for three days.

I take your sacrament.
I take your mouth full of blood.
I take,
I take,
I take.