Goddess of the Crossroads.

June 25, 2010 at 9:12 am (life! a lover!)

An old bit of witchcraft recommended drinking blackberries muddled in wine with a touch of honey to cure passions of the heart. Lover, we have been drinking from the same well for years. Now we drink from the same wineglass, you and I.

You came here and I gave you your first taste of mango, the Atlantic ocean, and lesbianism. I liked the surprised joy on your face as I fed you the pieces of overly ripe fruit. The ocean met us, rough in its affections: it pressed our bodies down, tried to strip me, stole our breath, made our skin taste of so much salt.

And you. Gods. We bled for one another, this first time that we met, our bodies offering sacrifice. There was blood on your lips, your chin, pooled in the dip of your throat. There was blood on my hands, my thighs, and where your fingers marked my chest. You painted me like a cave. We are hunters, magicians, men who shout into the night. We are the ideas of beasts. We are prey.

I’m drinking the glasses of water we left scattered around my room in these last days, making a sacrament of taking the last of what is left of you here into my body. I give some to my plants, and I’ll kiss them some night, like a woman whose lover’s head was buried beneath her basil.

I had to offer you to the sky three times before the crossroads gods allowed it. You came back to me twice, and still you left me bruised and wanting.

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