She has risen from the ashes ...

as she remembers the dance.

The flames were high as the serpent slithered through,

She twirled in the moonlight 

while his scales grazed her skin. 

But soft was the flesh which beaconed her in.

The flames were high, yet she drowned where the fig leaves lay. 

Sweet was the poison that intranced her through the eyes of the serpent.

Dripping of sweet nectar he has bitten into the rose.