Poetry by December Lace: Ouija Board
Your planchette hands roam
over my Ouija board body
summoning love from all my orifices,
searching for symbols, probing for a word
roving for a string of consonants,
curving fingertips for a vowel.
A moan will pass for an exorcism,
the spirit in my throat growing from my lungs,
blooming in my mouth
collected by your unholy teeth.
You receive the words, the primal growl of my need
housed in the dark gateway of your lips.
The book of my shadows in the walls,
behind bruised kneecaps,
in between my thighs.
The coven of my mind, cobwebs responding
to your tongue; my body rises,
my lips on yours, the ritual complete.