In which I am both a woman and unclaimed land

I bleed the consecrated
wreath of red; I am
wine-drunk womb-deep
baptized, crowned
in crimson birthed
anew, birthed
screaming—Tell me
if I bruise open, you with teeth
sunk in annexed flesh
I with rolling hills
unclaimed; bequeath me a
mark on bone where I
calcify into a possession, where
I am possessed, your
name so like filigreed captivity—
Ignite me in hot
iron shackles, make me
your home but oh,
corpse-papered, drained-white,
how mistaken I am for a bride.