to make love potions and get nothing in return

with a love under blankets
and constellations smiling...
in a soft belonging, you belong to him,
                                                a leash.

conjured from prayer signs,
and the palm of plantain trees
and a rose quartz in the shape of god

he sits in darkrooms, singing his spell
testing his faith, why, it's never come through
it's never once worked

oh and some nights he gives up, like a child

the money spent on candles
the nights spent haunted, oh,
the ouija board speaks now, it speaks.

but he puts their hearts on leashes
to free himself from his.

he keeps the candle burning because
he can't stand the burn out.

he stays haunted because that way
he can now speak ghost.

it's a simple tragedy, but in truly desperate nights,
he consummates the plantain tree and
uses the candles like dildos;

he's married to his work,
simple.