“Don’t.”

I turn away from his face.

“You know we shouldn’t.”

He grabs my cheeks. He’s firm but gentle as he turns my face back to his. Still, he doesn’t speak. Just stares. Breathes. Tilts his chin until I can feel his stubble against my jaw. He looks at me from under shadowed lashes. A sliver and light from the moonlit window illuminates his ghostly-pale blue eyes. I lower my gaze: focusing on the folds of his cupid’s bow. He notices and bites his lip. Damn. Desire strikes inside me. I know I should run away. I should flee from the feelings surging beneath my skin. This is dangerous. I don’t know how much longer I can hold out. Images flicker before my mind. Images that make my knees buckle and my heart race. I close my eyes. Try to steady myself. I lean away but my back is met with the hardness of the wall. I sense him closing in: the heat of his body inches from mine. I brace myself for his touch. I ache for it. I worry about how much time we have, and I know once this moment ends, it will be gone forever. It was now or never.

“I need you to say it.”

Fuck. Why is he making this so hard? I remain silent. Frustrated by his demands. Desperate for his mouth to find me in the darkness.

He pushes up against me. I can feel him. How much he wants me. I begin to unravel at the seams.

“Say it.”

I can’t hold on anymore. I open my eyes and feel the intensity of my gaze. I am resolute and he knows what is about to come. His hand is on my neck, pulling me in. Our lips brush together and I hold myself there, soaking in the electricity firing between us. One last glance at those icy eyes and I’m lost. Kissing him is like plunging into an ocean. I can feel myself falling deeper and deeper into him. Losing myself. Pushing harder to plummet further down into the pit of my passion. My obsession. I can’t come up for air. To discover I’ve drifted too far from the shore to ever make it back home. Right now, with his fingers caressing my curves, his tongue colliding with mine, I don’t need ever to breathe again.

On the same earth that hikers tread,

That families pace with unleashed, wet dogs,

Grows weeds from skin-soaked soil.

Buried secrets lay beyond the beauty,

Beneath the billowing, yellow-tipped blades,

The far-reaching, unending wildness of the moors.

They cannot see where not to dredge,

For no grave marks that spoiled spot,

Where innocence collided with evil.

An ungodly act upon godly land,

Below the same starlit sky of their aching mothers,

Alone.

Alone amongst the unforgiving, blustery winds,

A rough and raging nature that haunts the undulating hills.

They do not know that they unwittingly touch,

Such unspeakable horror and sadness with each stride.

The air should somehow be denser there, colder.

Breath should catch and hairs should stand,

Yet, to the eye, there is no trace of death and depravity.

The moors have reclaimed its face and with it,

Concealed its darkest of pasts.

The memory of them doesn't hide underground,

But the filth can stay hidden for all of time,

And from foulness may brimming life stem,

To absorb the moment and the violent truth.

Let them walk, and laugh, and live.

Let them fill the unthinkable with the familiar.

Let them squash the hate into the dirt,

And take back the land that was stolen from our youth.

Thou shun away the bloodlust,

Or give in to deep temptations

No sinners scared to hide.

Whether you cave or break

When trouble comes near,

Thou shall not be forsaken.

Siren calls from far and wide

To slay the belly of the beast,

Destined for salvation.

Alas, the darkest demon cries,

Its clutch so strong and firm

Will break upon a distant swell.

Surrender to the nightfall,

For the moon and stars look on,

To guide you out of blackness,

To save you from yourself.

And so it begins,

Insipid openness and dreary dreams,

Forever bound by the worries than keep you awake.

A thorny hollow, ever-flowing swell,

A glassless prison with no door to shake.

And so it begins,

Limitless boundaries and unfulfilled thoughts,

Motionless in time, eternally faded and weak.

Encircling demons, rotting memories,

A breathless soul from which you cannot speak.

And so it begins,

Endless, blank loops and barren reflections,

Pervading black sorrows left to languish in the wind.

Vacant darkness, desolate, empty homes,

A presence of absence, senseless and skinned.

And so it begins,

Insufferable nothingness laid bare,

Oppressive stupor with no ability to cry.

Wandering ether, infinite demise,

Drifting death and yet unable to die.

And so it begins.

Unfurling life so full of zest.

A perfect gift inside my palm.

Sliver thin and skin so light.

A twirled descent in fallen flight.

Silent soldier, protective shield.

Rigid curves, a woven web.

Satin sheen, embodied calm.

Proud upon a branches’ arm.

A dancer’s grace made divine.

Intricate veins, illusive lustre.

Forest feathers of green and gold.

A puzzle piece with no set mould.

Except to leave its home in time.

By nature’s caress or curious guide.

Endless lives, spawning fate.

Nothing more humble nor so great.

And so it begins,

Insipid openness and dreary dreams,

Forever bound by the worries than keep you awake.

A thorny hollow, ever-flowing swell,

A glassless prison with no door to shake.

And so it begins,

Limitless boundaries and unfulfilled thoughts,

Motionless in time, eternally faded and weak.

Encircling demons, rotting memories,

A breathless soul from which you cannot speak.

And so it begins,

Endless, blank loops and barren reflections,

Pervading black sorrows left to languish in the wind.

Vacant darkness, desolate, empty homes,

A presence of absence, senseless and skinned.

And so it begins,

Insufferable nothingness laid bare,

Oppressive stupor with no ability to cry.

Wandering ether, infinite demise,

Drifting death and yet unable to die.

And so it begins.

First time foot falls, heel to toe,

Innocent skips full of optimistic dreams,

Running strides like birds in flight,

Fervent skates towards ice-cream chimes,

Chasing shadows ever growing and changing,

A returning glide with an ingrained compass,

Curious saunters and wayward souls,

Aimless wanders, destination unknown,

March in haste, a locked target defined,

Lovers stroll with palm-locked hands,

Stumbling drunkenness awash with laughter,

Lonely paces loaded with regret,

Slow descents, halting and afraid,

Ambling crutches dragging with dismay,

Pause upon pause until forever still,

For all the moments you were free to explore,

The streets of your youth, your life, your existence,

A pavement of a million footsteps, unexplored.

A wicked thought is a witch.

Her name a poison on the tongue,

A shroud of creped and boiled skin.

She speaks with sored, acrid breath,

And twitches bony fingers bent.

Her name a whisper on the wind,

A crooked nose beneath tepid eyes.

She speaks with song, a chorus spell,

And stirs her frothy, rosy brews.

Her name a curse for all to dread,

A darkened soul from wayward trees.

She warns with talon nails sharp,

And drags her silken tendril cloak.

Unless,

Her name is but a common call.

An unassuming, forgettable face.

She talks of modest, normal things.

And hides her true self beyond belief.

A wicked thought is a witch.

Among pockets of shadow, strikes fire aglow,

Amber cocooned flashlights, bulbous hallow,

Innards discarded for tiny candle hearts,

Carved faces adorned; teeth stretched apart.

A trail of warmth down a biting cold street,

Luring the beggars to a sweet lovers treat,

Winter’s squash, nature’s nightlight and skull,

Forged freely from fields, judged for the cull.

Illuminating signals, masks burning bright,

Vying with each other for thrills in the night,

Only for the sun’s rise to seal their fate,

A sunken carcass rotting, a fireless state.

Left on the doorstep to shrivel and decay,

Until year’s full cycle, the next Halloween day.

You reap what you sow, they say.

Well, the scarecrow sees it all.

He watches as you trudge the dirt,

Wellington boots on rain-soaked ground.

He watches as you rake the soil,

Hunched over steel, rapt and frozen.

He watches as you scatter seeds,

With glove-topped hands and nimble feet.

He watches as you spray the land,

Imparting care to thirsty roots.

He watches as the crows go by,

And circles in on sprouting life.

He watches as you sit and wait,

And prune and weed away the black.

He watches as you smile with pride,

Flora stretched out as if to shake,

To their maker, their God, their fate.

He watches as the plough descends,

To gather all that seeds give way.

He watches as fields are plucked brown,

Soon to be trudged and raked upon.

You reap what you sow, they say.

Well, the scarecrow sees it all.