Zoe Crout Poet Free verse

There exists no slave of Hecate

There is no slave of Hecate
it’s sea soft shell saves and covers me
though no bliss unaware 
but the pull of her hair 
drags her back to reality

though sand soft curves
It limestone hurts
your pink poker hands
on fire they burn
and prick at the skin
of a lizards sin

there is no slave of our Hecate

with twisted nails
filled: grime and mail
brush liquid lines
on cupids cry

find black dog spines
not in her eyes
but wool worn lies
darken the skies

hello to a friend of Hecate.

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