Shotsie

Long flaxen hair
lifted from the boxes of christmas
past, each bundle put on the tree
the golden strands connecting
me to my past self,
like those telephones of cups
and string, practicing telepathy.

And I found out something of great
importance from my snot-nosed self:
you see Nana had a cyclops dog
with one creepy eye that would stare at you
like one of the fates,
gasping and growling with prescience
and asthma, and I was terrified
of this omen-bringer.

but one day I put my ear close to hear
what the ancient oracle had to say,
she whispered to me in rough iron words:
"Speckled adder and ebony crow
you will walk a path where none else go,
through skeletons wet with mourning dew,
you will become what you never wanted to."

Whoever You Are

You are elemental
to my world, to my idea
of pollination and so much more
that scientists say is bullocks.
They say you are an overgrown molecule,
as important as a puzzle can be,
no you are what differentiates a face from a mask,
you are no replicant. Whatever a soul is,
you have one.

I like to think we are bonded together
by more than inevitable attraction:
Magnetism, gears turning, chemicals
released, voila, love...
how boring, I want to think that our
spirits were paired before birth;
we fell in love before we were born,
and when we see each other
it all comes back, at least the feeling.