Witch, always.
I was always the witch. This is a word in a tongue that is not mine but will do.
I am terror when you make me the other, but if you stand with me I become
possibility.
Find me in the woods, sharpening my axe, sewing my bags, and waiting.
Smell the blood. Lick the earth, and listen for my laugh.
Slippery, sticky, messy, gooey.
Rich running over hands.
Massaged into thirsty hair.
Dry skin. Curving hips.
Full breasts released from black lace bras
Heavy and pulled down by gravity’s hands.
Grease it all.
Moisturize.
Moist. Wet.
Pampered.
Lavender oil and shea butter everywhere.
Every part oiled lovingly.
A black bush parted revealing folds
blushing deeper rose with each touch.
Marvel and stretch.
Luxuriating in so much perfect skin and sinew.
Muscle and mass.
Releasing your weight against a warm floor.
The loving ground.
Down down into where all things
carry you still.