Persephone's Choice

He holds my wrists above my head

His hand moves down my body

Like a brand

Not temporary

Not fading with the light of spring

The casual ownership rite of a husband

But his bed?

     His bed is not mine.

     My pleasure is not his.

     Our children do not share his darkness.

     Or, maybe a little…

          Their eyes see more

          Their fingers longer

          Their skin warmer to the touch

But no one touches them.

When you wander the fields at night

And the god surprises you

Holds your wrists high above your head

His hand pressing down length of your body

     His breath hot against your throat

     And he whispers, "yes or no"

     Then you must choose to dance in his darkness - 

              or dance alone - 

Forever.

                                                PJ