I claim you as my cosmic mother, 
with your chunky rosary and platform shoes, 
casting runes from the shadows edge, 
laying cards to part the dark,
sipping at the flower’s root. 

Something in me knows you, 
reaches to meet you in the astral 
where kingdoms are prized possessions, 
decorated with hard-earned pain-frames, 
medicine filled, and gold-plated for days. 

We bite down on mystery jewels, 
our teeth shining their fangs, 
rattling through the many archetypes, 
laughing at the unfolding story. 
Our myths, woven in fate. 
Was it to be this way? 
Or did it just happen one day? 

Spotless, eternal, pink sunshine. 
The orchid thief blooming, 
Loki playing his many games. 
Words would only lay waste to 
what you’ve done for me, to me, 
opened the locks, 
unbolted promising doors. 

Taught me to lay tricks to the wicked, 
shake salt on the world’s edge, 
watch the unfolding mystery, slickly, 
halve the enemies head, 
cast a circle, turning and burning, 
mend the heart in dread, 
kiss the dress of the humble goddess, 
let me know the sacred in an unclean bed, 
and dance, dance, dance in the deep alchemy. 

So forgive me, if I am too quick to hold 
your tough bits too. 
What you keep alone and only for you. 
In spirit, the ravens stand guard, 
as you descend to the depths, 
and still, I know, I know, 
this is the beauty of our meeting.