i’ll mix a quarter of the moon
with scents of azaleas bloom
i’ll add a pound of your own heart
mix it with a tarot card
think nights of passion soaked in sin
redemption mornings bathed in gleam
imagine her melting the snow
playing with the cupid’s bow
her eyes are healing your heart’s pains
her kisses flowing through your veins
the southern cross adorns her chest
a bird is flying from her nest

why is your face turning so red?
oh, no,
(voices lament in a shell)
you’re not supposed to fall in love with me
mistakenly (or not)
i murmured the wrong spell

@short-prose-fiction

image: hitdelight/shutterstock