All Hail Medea

Mossy vines served as camouflage for a decaying headstone. The inscription is illegible, but that matters not to me. At this centuries-old grave I place flowers and moonstone -- As requested by my ethereal savior, friend, lover, devotee. My first visit to Gravesend was via historical daylight tour. Another attempted escape from a dreadful loss and daily boredom. This landmark cemetery predates America by 100 years or more. Yearning for comfort, I sensed only a dead-strewn auditorium. Though the feelings persisted, I dared not reveal my plight. Breaking from the group, I chanced upon a hidden burial mound. Sitting on a slate stone, a tweeting bird subdued my fright. Then a silence did ensue -- and a whispering from underground. A mist ascended in the form of a desirable, raven-haired beauty, Who ingested my pain and angst, diluting my secrets in oblivion. Her voice was the sweetness that called my cells to sync-duty. She smelled of paradise and her kisses raised a dead compulsion. Meeting clandestinely as the summer turns to fiery autumn-rust. Medea (her name) asks to be released from her purgatorial strife By way of dark spells, old magic and a curious blood-crystal dust. On this Halloween night, I will transmute ghost to fleshy wife! The ritual begins as most rituals do: serious, focused and grim. Within the pentagram, Medea fluctuates -- in all her femaleness. She comes to me warm and steamy. I hear a chorus, a siren hymn. I'm enfolded in the marvelous lure of a dying-to-eat ... succubus! August 7, 2016 Camouflage Me A Poem - Poetry Contest