her violence avows the courage in
her heart easily.
and the red, though portraying
loss of innocence
belies and bleeds through a symbol
of anger and cholera,
lust as hell burns and blazes.

she’s the daughter of man
through and through,
both eve in name and deed,
and the name fits her well:
though by god not disowned,
yet she stumbles.
neither patriarchy nor misogyny
can make her blush,
can make her quench her
thirst.

feminists get her down.

she’d rather go down
than have to serve his gaze;
at least when her eyes are
closed he can’t
dominate her.
if she wants what he wants
has she lost sense of self?

he’s in her mouth
because she wants him there.
she needs to drown and he seems the
easiest way.
‘i can feel his pulse,’ she says.
and when he senses her
teeth
she’ll have won finally.

and is the red her innocence
lost or his head regained by her?
she bites her lip white death
she feels the sun
he crimsons the sky and
the sharp sting of her flesh and
his palm and oh sweet – oh jesus –
let me bear your cross
because
death is better
than life under thumbs