The Specials

Like the moon

you make waves

They’re warm honey

 and they break against my rib cage

You erode me

to a chest-cave

coated in sickly sweet

A fruit fly, you’ve got me

Aren’t witches supposed to turn ugly

once heros foil their plans 

while I remain unseen?

Let me in the story, love me

Make me solid in your eyes,

celestial gold and green

Could you be a siren?

No, Sea-salt and honey don’t taste good together at all. 

A vampire, maybe?

No, you never ask to come in.

A werewolf?

Just the opposite- only human under a thousand pairs of many-colored moons.