Sappho’s Golden Shovel

you hooked me brought me in

to a world fish-eyed and how lovely the

brooks from beneath how sincere the crooks

of your fingers of your nose of

the rows of pews we tore up in your

church we ate the body

and didn’t mean it we drank the blood i

sipped you too what wrecks we find

next will be purple your flower my

sheets will make do as religion