Witchcraft

He speaks love

like it’s witchcraft:

blue smoke curling

from the cauldron

at his lips, kissable

and lacquered with gloss.

He speaks love

and I tumble

like cloth at his feet:

spellbound, always,

indebted to the softness

of his touch, his words

and his mind.

He speaks love

and I’m his.

Poem: © Kristiana Reed 2020

Between the Trees UK

2 thoughts on “Witchcraft”

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