I bed hopped last week
lost my earrings and sleep,
and all your pillows and sheets,
reeked of treachery and me.
The demon caught me knee-deep
in other women's desperate dreams
In vain I tried to feel dirty
even as the cross singed me.
As winged hordes danced and leaped
and counted last night's bruises on me
I shook with laughter as I pretended to weep
(as I sat on my favourite god's knee)
and still god's favourite child I continued to be.