another day, another lotion,
sighed, “much rather be making potions.”

tedium, boredom, boil and bubble,
add a spice, then add it double,
stir it well and let it settle,
in a kettle,
made of metal.

what's your fancy, what's your trouble?
basin clogged with dwarven stubble?

make one balm,
you've made them all!
concoct a cream, a cream?—a cream!
one more grog burn,
swear I'll scream!

tedium, boredom, boil and bubble,
add a spice, then add it double,
stir it well and let it settle,
in a kettle,
made of metal.

give me dragons, give me daggers,
give me jewels with emerald feathers!
give me—“what?
what's this, right now?
of course I know exactly how!”

roots to find, true essence to distill,
adventure?
no, but pays the bills.

This is a story I didn’t mean to write
This is a group of words which I’m not even certain if concise.
Majority of my thoughts are overthinking
but a large part defines my what ifs.
It is your pain and sadness that keeps me awake
It is your tears unknown to me that makes me weak.
Maybe I am so used to darkness that I see you as the light always.
Talking to you is not something I want to be a habit
Mainly because you are someone I will always miss.
Why do you have to be so sweet and make me care for my health,
Just meeting you makes it fine to meet my end.
Here is the thing, you are fond of wheats,
Care to explain about its calories?
I am wondering what I lost in meeting you
Because you said that in attaining something,
you must give up another of equal value.

it’s a want to own but
you are not mine to own

neither is anything else that speaks
in sacred codes

what the moon tells me comes from within
but it is not mine

what belongs to the world’s heart cannot be owned

mad
admen
mental
alchemy

Gentle dangers
in the dead of night

Speak pleasantly
till all's not right

Soothsaying beasts
of no taxonomic order

Ravage our dreams
at our weakest border

Try to hither and halt such a
nasty scheme

Allows doom to convalesce
as the demon's eyes gleam

Better to walk with the creature,
play with it in jest

Embrace its ghoulish features,
but never let it get the best

Alloy once turned to gold,
so lay Reason down to rest,

That an enemy becomes an ally
at the soul's behest.

What Goes Around, Comes
by Michael R. Burch

This is a poem about loss
so why do you toss your dark hair—
unaccountably glowing?

How can you be sure of my heart
when it’s beyond my own knowing?

Or is it love’s pheromones you trust,
my eyes magnetized by your bust
and the mysterious alchemies of lust?

Now I am truly lost!

Keywords/Tags: love, lust, pheromones, chemistry, alchemy, alchemies, bust, *******, hair, attraction, eyes, stare, ogle