O Dionysos, our living, beauteous God
of gestation and restraint.
Born whole is He,
held and incubated through the depths of winter,
where root and vine rest.

You who endure the long wait
as yolk turns golden,
You who spring delicious from the earth,
flesh and bone.

Your seed in the belly of the ground
pulls, splits, curves,
a spiraled serpent.

Bit on the chin of frenzy, without waste,
Your restraint,
the beautiful dance
I bend beneath
in worship
and fits of rapture.

My lips beg Your kiss
in every milk meant swell of my life.

Glory be to You,
Son of the bolt,
forests sparkling at Your brow.
I kick up the soil
and feast on the marrow of Your provision
with gladness
and joy.

Originally shared aloud in a community prompt.