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
beautiful! I love it! ❤
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Thank you ☺️
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