witchy women with enchanted hands contort our futures,
beaded bracelets clacking against the old wooden card-reading table.
i am washed away in deep green eyes,
framed by dark lashes and a sun-stroke smile.
i pray to be told of a bloody fate-
knife in the back from the swift hand of my lover.
i eye you, romeo, from across the candle-lit room
(fuck with me, i dare you).
in new mexico, we walk with magic.
it seeps through our rib cages like fog,
obscuring the truth and painting my lies in neon.
gaia's veil of dust hovers above the earth
and the sky is void of life. not a cloud in sight,
as if zeus didn't, couldn't hear our prayers.
what do they know of being alone?
it's just you and i in this strange town,
but when i turn to grab your hand,
my arm shivers in the desert, coming up empty.
