Sandalwood chips
under her pots,
Those Blackest Crows
whose feathers twine
Shimmerd in twilight;
& those lovurs’ toes
curled in delighte
Upon the soft textiles
a bed of black Roses
this dreamcatcher to mar; e
She Quivers at the sight
ofthe oldē Boötes.
Thure was a twinkle
in the moons eye
that night;
a silver shade
As she did a spell to Five
In a wicked rhyme
back into the wells of time
Then took my hands
where circles & sands
activated the Dao, divine.
The Witches’ Bed [E]
– 20th March 2563
& Witches spells reel off myn tongue & lung
That smoked black burns in spike & spun
Pots that boiled in doragons rum drums
Plucking Orwellian thumb in black songs
To voodoo vapours & riddles a ton sun!
That dark nights of the soul once rolled
Preserving wine till blood turned in lime
Spades to the deepest veins in trades
Out from thē abyss into the holy myst
The kiss before the last battles
That we; sore fit.