Bewitched

My thoughts of you flutter, soar, hover—

vultures circling bone,

a tiger prowling amidst the grain,

stalking scent.

Bewitched,

I trace your name endlessly in blood:

each letter a hex

etched into the core

of an ancient sycamore.

I linger my palms over your flames,

blistering with longing.

Your aura seeps into my veins,

a writhing presence

coiling in secret chambers.

I abhor you for summoning

this sea of wings and teeth—

locusts brooding within my ribs.

I yearn to wrench this blight

from my marrow.

I’m the leaf, whirling,

at the mercy of your tempest.

I’m the umbra

eclipsing your enfeebling rays.

I worship at the feet of your shrine—

shatter it,

then weep,

as I glue it back together

with blades of caresses.

You’re the cherry pit

I sink my fangs into—

syrupy crimson cyanide.

You’re the bramble

threading through my flesh,

blooming with thorns

I can’t bear to trim.

You’re the tide pulling me under—

I surface, only to remember

I was born to be engulfed.

——

Sometimes I think I’ve untethered,

(at last?)

when I realise I no longer

whisper your name.

Only to find you towering in my dreams—

a tide drop captive to the moon.

Even your absence

interweaves into my present—

a ghost that bruises lovingly.

For you’re the mirror reflecting back

my most divine and defiled fragments,

a girl too ashamed to stare into her well.

To meet your gaze

is to surrender my flayed soul—

a sublime

and utter

obliteration.

And I collapse

deep

into

you—

into myself