In the world of man any woman could be it and though it was you who was enchanted blame it on her her wits, her charm, her garment. Make a bonfire, we are branching out truth hidden by the sound of chants joined in a primal dance, inner circle only she’ll be the one burned alive.
A bit of controversy never hurt anybody. Witch trials seem to be a kept up tradition.
The pleasant lingering smell of rose hips, feels almost healing, as we tread through the garden - together barefoot and vulnerable.
I won’t shy away from the prickly green grass, then in the same way, let me tickle you with my stubble when we laugh, together joyful and crude.
One has to be careful not to lose themselves completely to rub your intricate fingerprint away into another's skin in patterns, because although the body feels heavy when weak kneed - the weight of another’s soul is too much to bear alongside your own.
I won’t hold your head underwater in the fresh lake then in the same way, let me breathe when we lay by its side - together entangled and safe.
The passing time made you my involuntary complex, feels nearly daunting as I adore this so shamelessly - us together balanced and in love.