Imposing 

Proserpina and Pluto intertwined in stone 

Your eyes grazing where his hand grips her thigh

Mine falling to where her hand reaches out against his temple

In protest, 

A plea not to be overtaken 

Over wine I wilt 

Jestering to those seated beside me 

Reddening at the whispers 

The suggestions that taunt and dissect 

Expose me 

Proserpina’s fearful face, 

running from her fate, returns to me 

I take the bottle from your hand 

Pour it to the brim

And lift the glass to my lips 

I silently beg for answers 

Finding that my expressions translate as 

Desperation 

Somehow, 

Only the kind that you are tasteful for 

Wine dripping from your lip 

A consuming bitterness stirs in my gut 

And without words, I know 

You see me 

I know you do

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