Untitled Poem
by Soror Reynard
Do we come together for the wine
and fornication, master? Painting
my eyes dark and plaiting my hair,
am I an offering devoid of finer fiber?
Who can say as the cigarettes rise
and fall that we are anything
but base matter.
As the wine tumbles and breath
hitches in the throat, try a new spell.
Weave your fingers upon my heart.
Call the moon into this room, crazy
as she is and full of foam; let me
hitch up my skirt and defer to God.
What spirit enters in that hour
will leave the bells trembling and
strike swiftly on the altar of night.
