Wednesday, April 23, 2008

Sympathetic Magic

She was no shaman, cavewoman x
she spoke to her lover through unholy hands.
She lead him to the wall, his palm down
against the rough damp dark, began to trace
charcoal finger flutes both hers and his.
She drew herself, rare in the language of caves
rendered him, between their bodies - a heart, 
red ochre.  Behind the fire burned, light flickered
all eyes.  They raped each other in the guttural night
lost between echoes.  He left her full, awash
with sweat, her scent heavy upon him.

The next day he gifted fish wrapped in leaves.
She squatted to eat, adorned her hair with bones.
Nobody heard her voice as she began to sing.

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