Can I dabble in you?
Stick my spoon in and sift through the liquids of your soul?
Your cauldron will bubble
Skin, nails, stubble.
I will scoop at the good bits make them float to the top
But just as you boil over
I will stop.
Simmer. Simmer. Simmer.
You know I go witch way.
That the follicles of your heart
Are mine to control
Along with your soul
And every other inch.
Pinch. Pinch. Pinch.
A bit of this and that
Added to the mix
Stirring you up
You’re froth. Broth.
Moth to my flame.
Bubble. Bubble. Pop.
Suddenly and quite epically it is Autumn.
Boughs slinging their crackling confetti in the air.
Frivolous winds, wafting the smell of new fires like a chef gone mad.
Is there anything better than to shed the year’s hardship and be bare again ?
The lessons I have learned fluttering around me,
Beautiful in their shriveled ways.
At last I can start again. Fall ,Splinter,Spring ,Slumber.
What a surprise to remember that there is magic.
To feel so sleepy when those around me jump.
Oh but to wake again!
Snap. Crackle I’m going to explode.
I can’t explain this feeling to those of you who seek the Summer’s balmy nights.
This dormant sizzle that awakes with the slow paint stroke of Autumn’s artistry.
Blessed be sisters.
Blessed be brothers.
We burnt in the sun
But now is our fun.