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.