The bewitching Samantha Lucero
It was there I felt an elemental shimmer wafting down, twirling down the clattered network of algae-clothed river stone, the molten hues of the unearthly chant. Hand-in-hand they harnessed three on the curled tongue of watery twilight, a hatched maiden circlet of prancing untamed snake-hair, delirious, and drifting over scratched tree-bitten hips by bark-teeth. All wailing midnight colors swooned and surmounted here in the night-spell, disorderly and bare as first birth, bells on their profane ankle bones, sacred toes manic in the old gods organic gems, varnished in oil and star blood.
I know them from the heart-stopping slip in my dreams, the air-stealing haunt they take on barren wombs, open tombs, the purple iris of the childless woman. The listening eyes in the quiet dark, nails filthy following the aeons placental scent. Throned Ancestress. Buried Vestal. Burned Witch.
I taste their hazy names like fire and dirt, watching, wishing…
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