The necromancer

Look me in the eye, find some truth, find some fear
then use every word you can find to say nothing. I laid

in your bed once when you were not there. I had a nightmare
that your father found me. I let you run your hand down
my body, I let you, but you knew then, as is your habit

that there would be no more, that I would be hollow. I was another
tool, a way to discover another future. After I slid my hands

over you, and you whispered that it must mean something,
you peeled me, left me exposed. It was your nature to know,

but you left me no clues, no tea dried into elaborate patterns
in the bottoms of cups, no dried yarrow in a tangle on my lawn.

And Another

I will feed her your
essence, the last gift
you gave me

to nourish this moment
of golden sun, these seconds
between one breath

and another. I will give her the blankets
you once laid beneath, the touch
you once treasured. It will all become

hers before she steps back out
into the ether that is fogs
lifting off late summer

pavement, before I kiss her
in the street, in front of her door
like she kissed the my shoulder blades

last night before telling me
to sleep. How I wanted all this, to feel
this skin, to suck this marrow

but then she was gone
and I had to find someone
to nourish with what I had left of her.

Sex with someone new (final?)

Seriously, This is my final draft… Really! Its another take on the EC poem I wrote with her witchiness The Polka Dot Witch

I will reach for the skin, the flesh of another.
Variety entices, but I always prolong this

yearning for unfamiliar skin, for teeth
nipping away at bits of flesh, discovering
your temptation until it’s impossible to know
time from place, limb from limb. See in me the girl who

runs her fingernails down your spine, presses breasts
against breasts. Hold on to me –
I’m slowly sliding hands up your legs, you
will never guess how much to trust, how long

to stay. Light me with your small flame of a mouth,
the tiniest blaze ignites this pyre and leaves my past
only as ash – use your fingers, mark my face

with sooty stripes. I will take
this warrior stance, this posture of holy
strength and verve. Say my name:

It sparks on your tongue.

Perpetual Motion

She begins to understand how to create
energy by expending it, how sliding
her hand over skin that holds

a body other than her own can
create another motion that lasts
out into the daylight, into

an unfamiliar future. She finds
how this motion of lip against
lip, teeth against nipple, tongues

seeking creates electricity
that will jump from bone into
muscle, thru her brain, moving

her out into the street, toward another
body, another home.