If I snake myself around your staff,
will you let me pet
my thought-fed dog?
I've seeds of spells beneath my skin;
it's harvest time again,
and my handfast hands are yours -
if you just unfasten this lock.
You can't tell me how to purge the evil,
that curls inside my gut;
a cautionary tale.
Give me a borrowed constellation,
a bit of strange Sapphic sedation,
and I'll be fine as fireflies.
say I'm well.
A rough draft (I've got some WICKED writer's block) for The Tuesday Platform at Real Toads.