20 September 2012

Sentinel


























after the dust had settled
and October had quelled
a little of their summer fire
it became their ritual
a walk to the elder tree
fingers entwined
in overtures to desire

one body
pressed against her silvered bark
the other pressed to that one
wet berry-stained kisses
dried to plum-dusk blooms
touch-pieces
in the gloaming

mother elder
her shields
circling them
wards against
a petulant anathema
in an unrelenting
season of a witch

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