witch’s heart, are you
glowing scarlet rivers
feeding life through
tired veins, are you
older than the soil
planting your feet
on the earth
taking root in deep green
forest, are you
bruised and purple-blue
fighting for the ache
that reminds you
that you are still alive

it is november again
the leaves are golden
and i am still
breathing

when november drips down
my windowpanes
autumn-heavy clouds
overhead
and the tick tick tick
of the kitchen clock
remains constant
uninterrupted
i sigh
disappointment
clouding my frostbite senses
i check again
once more
wishful thinking guiding
my shaking hand
and almost immediately
wish i hadn’t
and instead
left myself in the suffocating comfort
of blind hope

in low tones of
dusty rose
she spoke to me
heresy dripping
liquid gold from her lips
and to my untrained ear
it sounds like a prayer
ancient overlapping
of hollow voices in her own
she tells me
you were the one
the kind of woman
the world can’t help
but fall in love with
and she skims my arms
as she speaks
with tender feather fingers
slips into my skin
like a well worn jacket
sings sweet lullabies
one more voice
added to her mournful melody

and you were there
  - or the ghost of you -
a phantom trace
of fingers at the small of my back
feather-light gust of breath
unsettling the hair
at the nape of my neck
in the corners of my perception
i hear your voice
calling me back
to bed

i don’t know what it means
to give yourself over
to loving someone
to ache and tear at your skin
until your raw heart is exposed
to pine away
withering in silence
for months
and years
i give my heart to
every person i meet
and fill the empty spaces
with the love they give
in return

i ached
and i ached
and for all i lost
i loved tenfold