by Elle Bathory

From the dust of angels, 
I was aware, saved.
My migraine-aching head
split in two-
gazelles leaping
griffins roaring.
I lay beneath
the feather comforter
the flannel sheets-
my skin alive with each breath.
I could feel every fiber,
every stitch-
downy hairs standing on end
in new-found delight.
The seraphim- no, spirits,
they were- gazed through 
my partially draped window
as I groaned my pleasure-
a primal, throaty gust
from my lungs.
I surveyed my own flesh
with my own hands-
fully aware I was not alone.
The flower scar upon my left breast,
individual ribs knocking together,
the raised veins in my wrists,
the gentle slope beneath my navel.
As all God's creatures
rushed forth
from my cracked skull,
my back arched,
a husky growl
emerging from my viper lips.
The celestial beings
watched and watched
as I found myself.