Medea

You warmed your hands on such

Sweet and soft regard

Black as infant moon-

Silently coiled

As the passing storm

Foraging in your stammered mind

Sheltered from all things visible

As wing to air and night

Littering the blood scented sky-

Layers cursed your alibis

And always with our coming affair

We could pry

Entangled in our midnight graves

Children making deeper their slits into epidermis

Mountains of pinhole light

Bells and ghostly rage stood past gods in holy worship

Marking smiles into tears

There you built a chapel of our distance

A place where sorcery thrived

Where flames again returned to fire

You walked from heaven to cast my hell

As if by chance that choice would take me over

As if in time my stage could be so markedly waned

Words that spilled from your heels

Soon returning or simply disappeared

As if by "if" that saved me-

You warmed your hands with such sweet regard

In length I listened out for you

On wires perched and rained

Warming my salt for your soft regard

Too sweetly for the wolves.

Author's Note

wip