Witches

Coloured cries on the cusp of clouds,

sticky, silvery trails sliding down.

Lunar illuminations pulling glistening tides.

All the mistakes made memories miasma,

holding on too tight, terrified twisted together.

Finding a feeling and a furious fear forever

bound to regret, regarding reeling,

racing, roaming bodies.

Never your body I want - a representation

of reality.

A ghostly touch: rough then smooth

sighs down sides and endings

joined up.

Sand moving across saltwater flesh.

Trusted trysts and traces of air

down throats and choke.

Preparations, anticipations - cold away

from high humid heights.

Beauty bordering on bitterness.

Bedraggled descent and

maddening, impossible peaks

and wet, white ghostly angel crests.

Witches would wonder but I

didn’t want to know you.