Ah, yes. I remember now. This righteous May moon is swelling between my ribs as it always does, lifting these aging breasts a bit higher and plumping my flesh with silver sparks of sweet sensation and over-heated grace. Come out into that mist-heavy night with me, lover. Walk slowly. The night-birds are moon-crooning “Rhiannon” in honor of their Witch-Mother’s solar return, and I’ve decided to make this evening your holiest memory.
I’ve grown weary of surrendering to my art, to the will of the world. Just now, I woke wild from a sweaty nap with lust between my thighs and the cunning thoughts of a huntress in my heart. In this moment, I’ve no sweetness left in my hands, and I can smell everything with the tip of my wicked tongue. Your hesitation reeks like just-soured milk, like cream curdled with lemons or butter left too long in the sun. That wariness of the unfamiliar keeping your eyes on the ground is pungent with the stink of dying roses, and, if you’re not careful, I might grow bored of this played-out game and move on to more fragrant and fearless lovers.
This is your last chance. Will you stay on this tried-and-true woodland path or join me on forbidden ground?
There’s a soul-deep part of you that’s aching for my more hidden magick, I know. Somewhere beneath all that stiff-limbed composure there is an untamed creature with a painted face who’s smirking and ready, who’s rattling your bones like the bars of a cage and chanting warrior prayers to Pagan gods in a heathen tongue, who won’t shrink back at the sight of those horned, ecstatic beasts tattooed on my skin or hush me when I moan like the primal, of-the-woods Witch I am.
Just do it. Come to my vine-wrapped temple right now, as this full moon is rising, as this year blooms toward fruition. I built it for us, you know. No one has been permitted entry to this secret place I’ve shaped from raw quartz dug bare-handed from the late-Spring ground, from wildcrafted and arced forsythia homegrown on these ancient lands.
I’ve waited lifetimes for you, Viking. Look into these emerald-pool eyes of mine and see that fickle mate you’ve found and lost, found and lost, over and over and over again. Enough’s enough. Let’s strip this fluffed-over love of ours right down to its red and thumping parts. I’m peeling back every romantic gesture and licking away at the played out poetry.
It’s your wildness I’m after.
Do you remember? Think hard. You’re an ancient memory wrapped in softer skin, I’m sure of it. Take my hand, and I’ll make you weep with regret that you’ve waited so long to bind yourself to me, to flesh out-loud your long whispered devotion, to unleash that hungry demon-lover you’ve kept contained within the trappings of normalcy and masked behind the humble visage of sage-craftsman.
You’re a devil-trickster, and you know it. Let me pour you something strong while you scry your future in my scars. I’ll divine our next steps then from the dregs at the bottom of your glass, but all paths will lead here: Me, wearing an antler crown and swallowing you whole, and you, gazing upward at the wide-winged Witch-woman who speaks the rebel-language of the crows and rhythmically exorcised your most beauteous psychic depths with every thrust of her hips.
You are sick with the plague of the mundane, and, I promise you, tonight I am your most potent medicine.
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Ah, yes. I remember now. This righteous May moon is swelling between my ribs as it always does, lifting these aging breasts a bit higher and plumping my flesh with silver sparks of sweet sensation and over-heated grace. Come out into that mist-heavy night with me, lover. Walk slowly. The night-birds are moon-crooning “Rhiannon” in […] -
Ah, yes. I remember now. This righteous May moon is swelling between my ribs as it always does, lifting these aging breasts a bit higher and plumping my flesh with silver sparks of sweet sensation and over-heated grace. Come out into that mist-heavy night with me, lover. Walk slowly. The night-birds are moon-crooning “Rhiannon” in […] -
Ah, yes. I remember now. This righteous May moon is swelling between my ribs as it always does, lifting these aging breasts a bit higher and plumping my flesh with silver sparks of sweet sensation and over-heated grace. Come out into that mist-heavy night with me, lover. Walk slowly. The night-birds are moon-crooning “Rhiannon” in […]
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Ah, yes. I remember now. This righteous May moon is swelling between my ribs as it always does, lifting these aging breasts a bit higher and plumping my flesh with silver sparks of sweet sensation and over-heated grace. Come out into that mist-heavy night with me, lover. Walk slowly. The night-birds are moon-crooning “Rhiannon” in […] -
Ah, yes. I remember now. This righteous May moon is swelling between my ribs as it always does, lifting these aging breasts a bit higher and plumping my flesh with silver sparks of sweet sensation and over-heated grace. Come out into that mist-heavy night with me, lover. Walk slowly. The night-birds are moon-crooning “Rhiannon” in […]
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