Cupid and Psyche I light a lamp to know the truth and see... a God! I drop my knife and gape at all the gold in view, the gleaming wings. I'm Cupid's wife! The Pythia had split her lips with screams of what awaited me: A Dragon Lover! But your kiss, your touch, your moves, felt heavenly until I doubted. You must know, my sisters urged. I tremble, spill a drop of wax. You wake and groan and glare. Your anger holds me still and silent, shamed, inside our room, our baby fluttering in my womb. ** Cupid and Psyche When Psyche lights a lamp for truth and sees the God, she drops the knife and gapes at all the gold in view. She has one thought: I'm Cupid's wife! The Pythia's lips had split with screams of Dragon Lover! But Psyche's fright had ebbed within her lover's arms; her lips enjoyed him night by night. The dark had concealed a golden boy, as gentle as his mother's doves; but might, as well, a serpent's coils and forking tongue have roused to love? The unborn wriggles in her womb as Cupid glares across the room. F.F. Teague F.F. Teague (Fliss) is a copyeditor/copywriter by day and a poet/composer come nightfall. She lives in Pittville, a suburb of Cheltenham (UK). Her poetry features regularly in the Spotlight of The HyperTexts; she has also been published by The Mighty, Snakeskin, The Ekphrastic Review, and a local Morris dancing group. Other interests include art, film, and photography.
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July 2025
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