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.