poem09 Sep 2013 07:40 am

The straw beneath me has already
sent up its ghosts, wisps of smoke,
to pester me like flies.
Beads of sweat jewel me
like a rose at dawn.

“What have you learned?” they ask me,
the men grim as iron.

I’ve learned that missing
his hands’ gentleness
pierces like thorns.

“What do you confess?” they ask.

I confess the flames feel
cool as snow’s caress
compared to the heat of his body.

“You pay for your sin
with your soul,” they tell me.

I paid for my wild dance
with my wild heart.

“Don’t you care for the cost?” they ask.

I remember the patter
of his lips on mine
like clink of coin,
bright as candle-flame in shadow,
how in daylight all that gold
turned to dust.

1851_Junge_Hexe,_zum_Scheiterhaufen_geführt_anagoria (1)


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