Every time the eyes turn away
I cease to exist —
Dying a numbered death
Roaming in solitary, spectral form
The evidence of my existence foregone.
A returning glance won’t bring my resurrection…
Hovering bee-like around you,
Minimally acknowledged
This distant yeast mouth
Expands and swallows me.

In the absence of the buzzing wings
The mead waits for Dionysus
To be reborn.