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MAGIC IN THE WITCHING HOUR
The first night I fell asleep in his arms,
It wasn't planned but it was it was easy. Like slipping into my own bed,
Peeling back the covers after a long day. You almost sigh aloud,
Tell the empty space "I'm back".
The world faded into the seconds between breaths,
The air violently shoved out of his lungs,
Pulled slowly into mine.
We watched TedTalks,
Listened to the stories and secrets of strangers,
And between verse I wanted to share my secrets in every form of art I knew. Imagined I had paint on my fingers tips,
That I could trace out my portrait in the space between his fingers.
I played my fingers across his skin,
Brushing over ribs I created symphonies,
A first dance, a lullaby, a wedding march.
I whispered words straight to his heart,
Of how long I waited for a love like home.
His fingers wrapped around my hip bone,
Palm pressed so deep he left the length of heart line in my skin,
His life line tangled in my veins.
Skin bare to the earth and the tingle of magic from his breath on me.
He wrapped his fingers around my heartstrings and tugged,
Like a puppet,
A crafted voodoo doll I'd follow his will.
I watched as the witching hour passed,
Leaving ever bit of the magic in my blood.
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