Call me hurricane

The air was

wet and slippery,

moss tastes

and blood.

I wanted to

burn with you,

retrace out footprints

to the bastard church steps in Helsinki

where the content

old men sat

by the frontal lobe door

etched in color,

smoking their pipes

and laughing

while telling far away stories,

jazz leaked out of

the pours in the wood that

sighed beside them.

Lift me up

magic,

and drown me in that

twilight song

you used to sing

as you watched

the trees glow red and become

shadows and

fly away into

the night.

We,

the cave coven ones

must emerge

through the earth,

our howls

rapturing the sky

with fire,

fingertips light

down the spine.

I was the harlot

that bait you and

ate you,

twisted bones

with blood together

and summoned forth

the riptide.

Call me hurricane.