Boy Witch
Ellen Webre
First published by Moontide Press
He lights a blunt of hemlock,
smokes poison in the night,
he’s sitting in the vineyard,
his purple fires bright.
They call him quite the sinner,
he smiles and says its true.
He went dancing with the devil,
came back with cloven hooves.
He lights his scarlet candles,
my witch boy, darling knave,
and draws my limbs a rattling
from my unquiet grave.
He takes me by my withered hand
and warms my clay-cold lips.
There never was a paler bride,
as frail as dew drop drips.
“The queen of air and darkness,
has come, and now will bind
the fool who made a deal with death
to be eternal mine.”
“Your fool, I am my lady,
but I am not afraid,
and I will serve you gladly
in my immortal days.”
He said this oh so sweetly,
I’ve known this type before.
Destruction is his shadow,
and peacetime is a bore.
I crush this lover by the neck,
and lift him to the sky.
I whisper incantations,
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Cauldron Anthology