we each are holy, holy, holy
and altogether damned
our shifts removed, our lips
parted to sing hosannas to our
caprine master
no one loves thee like a witch
no mass brings grace the likes of this
trace baphomet on mine thigh
run sigils through mine hair
step into the woods with me, girl
and we shall live
deliciously
YOU ARE READING
almost pretty.
Poetrya collection of free-verse poetry. please vote, comment, and add to your library if you enjoy!
