My bride

A voice crying out
In the wilderness-
Ululating the divorce
Of Zeus and his wives
(And concubines).
How could the butterfly
Refuse the nectar, or
The housefly, the pyre?
Whose hands have assundered
That which Jehovah
Has sewn together?
Who shall settle our case?

My love, our love; its acerbity
Has numbed my heart.
And I will not kiss the bride;
The bride is not my bride-

She belongs to my past.
The hebetude of the prize
Wale says, put our future
To sleep.