Borderline

A Viscous for a Warlock

Dear Warlock:
Come here.
This is the pail where we
will make wine out of raisin’s tongue
Conjure-call the 7 sisters nearer to red clay
invite them to watch the trade
of cadence and lightning
the bend of the book and cauldron smoke
and chant
and chant, and chant, and chant.

My Enchanted:
Find a place on me to put your spells
I’ll tuck mine where ever you’ll let me
put code into your bay and arch
Only if you put tremor in my split and beast
The tremor is important; there is no metaphor there
I will gift you a night of butterflies
if you’ll divine the ocean’s waves to the bump of my hip sway
Say that you will

Sweet Destiny:
We will answer to chants we put heavenward
far too long ago. We’ll drink the potions
we taught ourselves were a bad idea
We’re the best idea with an audience of covens
and a murder of crows.
Your pawed heart knows no gentler talon than mine,
we will make wine out of raisin’s tongue
We will.
I promise.
Just
come here.