Flesh and Sweat and Love

Secrecy made us the darkest of fairy tales, trickery turned shield. We ran and hid behind realities disbelief labelled fictions. Our love fed on shadowed moons, grew as strong and wise as the wildest of storms was harsh. My witch bled spells.

“To protect our hearts,
I give flesh and sweat and love,
submit to Nature,
charm a shroud of memories
to conceal her heart in mine.”

Her lips added no other words to the chant, but her eyes spoke clearly into mine—We shouldn’t have to be prisoners of the dark. I cradled her face, kissed the silver curls her magic had been weaving into her hair. “The night will never be a cage, my heart… Not while we are free to have each other in it.”

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the wee notes…
– To read other installments, visit my Web Serials page. The tales are listed under Belle du Freak.
– Linked to the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads and Poets United.

I Know Ink

Mind-sex takes love… and closeness, I wrote, reminding him that my body had been poisoned with the land, left unsafe to touch.

His response slaughtered unease.

I can live in words
written out of you and me.
I want, but need not
your flesh to love you deeply
and true. I know ink, do you?

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the wee notes…
– To read other installments, visit my Web Serials page. The tales are listed under Ink and Feels.
– I like many of the names you offered last week, Ash and Silvanus are favorites. However, I went with Hedgewitch’s suggestion, and left him nameless (for now).
– Written for Hedgewitch’s Friday 55. Linked to Poets United.

handwritten visual and the blackout poem bits
that went into the wee tale

Screams Meant Nothing

Before my witch, fall
lived eternal in my bones,
the world whipped me raw.
My screams meant nothing to man,
till she howled with me… for blood.

The moon spun bright and dark and again… unburied lies burned magic out of my witch’s skin. “It’s our right,” the people said to each other, accused her of viciousness, and bled historic hurts believed healed. “Freaks will scream for coin, make us rich. They like that.”

I wasn’t born to rip or tear, but society’s stones sharpened my teeth.

They destroyed our door
and unmade our home—
“For safety”, they said,
as the horde enjoyed the show,
paying flesh to watch freaks bleed.

There’s blood on the world’s stage, bone bits… and scars turned armor on my witch and me.

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the wee notes…
– To read other installments, visit my Web Serials page. The tales are listed under Belle du Freak.
– Linked to the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads.


artwork, by Shelle Kennedy