By MA

Mississippi nights,
jazz, getting lost in the vapor
the bad magic.
In the grip of raw lust
intoxication
Who are you?
The gods themselves
smelted a witch to torment me.

What is their purpose?
Their plan.

I shake my head and the tips of my fingers
twitch from a far off tremble.
Deep and mysterious.
From the shores of Patmos you have come.
I must think, and wonder still.

Voodoo nights,
softly glowing in the gas lamps -
thick shadows to vanish into

explore and dare your lust
let my potions addict you

No purpose to be found
but poetry everywhere
Too easy for meaning
to await us
for unraveling like a gift

It must be molded
sculpted
created with the labour
of our own hands

We will forge the path

Tremble for me
let broken whispers
escape

We will find each other,
somehow
somewhere.