Witchery

There are sacred words to speak when air
no longer finds room in breathstopped lungs.
It is magic of the highest order.
Power words to hold you tightly clasped
in iron fingers within a silken glove.

The flutter of lashes on your cheek
means to bestir your pulse within your chest.
Dangerous fibrillation darling.
The touch of lips against your ear
means to deafen you and erase your thoughts.

Crumbling beneath you
dissolving in the solute of ecstacy,
suffering a brief moment of death.
I shall live again,
but only in the warmth of your regard.
The witch becomes bewitched.