I let you believe
I was Joan of Arc,
     my lies disguised
     the truth;
You were Adam and I was Eve.

You thought I fought
for righteous cause;
     enlisted
     in my army.
Innocence and guile betrothed.

You longed to extricate me
from fires’ raven lust,
     thinking me
     a saint;
I longed for fire’s hunger.

My bright and shining armour
was only gilded iron,
     not the gold
     that you perceived;
Just an artificial martyr’s mask .

My strategy was a subtle thing
designed to tempt your sin;
     but then again
     maybe I was Bathsheba -
and you were the conquering King.