Left in daylight,courted in dreams
the elusive touch remains
just below the surface of waking
tangibly unreal
A ghost of Christmas Never
but true all the same
You can feel it on your tongue
and taste it in your spine
It smells like laughter
The realest thing that never was
No one can take
that paradox from you
And though we laugh about Lot’s wife
there are other kinds of salt
There are oceans and there are tears
The salt-sweet acrid taste of her bloodied,broken heart
as she becomes the sacrifice
Drink deeply of her goddess cup
And you will wane
But you will live again,my friend
Though after the first death there is no other
Eyes fringed with secrets
Soft lips holding back whispers
There are things known
not yet in any book
She has magick enough
To turn worlds
There is
more danger in her childlike brow
than in the kindled flames
of a thousand suns
And she will burn brightly yet