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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.
Copyright ©
Zoe Crout
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