Lilith's Wing
Sheba, jackdaw of prey and jinn at the head
of a vast host and thin, you left your wing
the day you spoke His name and flew
into an amulet. Yes, my wing, dead-holy
in its cut still. I tore it off Adam before
devouring him sex first. Hermaphroditic
lust stung his bony skin - and now,
Queen of Cicatrix, I call upon a poetry
of awe to bleed ruin. I prowl for semen,
my fingernails spokes of stirred beasts.
Call them goat - demons, wildcats or hyenas.
I prefer Lilith's Wing, but the rib's canonic,
though it's my deed, my talons in brute
pleasures of our love. When he sleeps
alone, it's my wing that spins him off.
